


Sanctuary

by Nasturtian



Series: John and John's Excellent Adventures [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke, Le Comte de Monte-Cristo | Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Character Death, Death of a pet, Djinni, F/M, Harry Potter Crossover - Freeform, Knife-Throwing, M/M, Trains, magical contract issues, magicians vs wizards, old johns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:52:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7282393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasturtian/pseuds/Nasturtian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven years later, the Count of Monte Cristo calls in his favor with Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wake for a Raven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PudentillaMcMoany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PudentillaMcMoany/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Segundus and Childermass deal with mortality, chocolate frogs, and the imminent return of an old not-exactly-friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's that epilogue to "Loose Ends" that I've been thinking about for nearly a year.

_July 1840_

John Segundus, headmaster of the Starecross School for Magicians, stood on the dining room table. He had an expression of intense concentration on his face and a large washing basket held upside down in his outstretched hands.

A soft chiming noise came from inside his coat.

"Bother!" said Segundus. He set down the basket and fished a small, oval mirror from an inner pocket. When he held it up in front of him it did not reflect his own image (that of a primly dressed, thin-faced gentleman, with grey hair combed back from a high forehead), but instead shewed another man altogether. The man looking back at him had grizzled hair that hung to his shoulders, an equally grizzled beard, and deep-set black eyes.

"Is this a bad time?" said the man in the mirror, in a thick Yorkshire accent.

"It could be better," said Segundus. Something under the table made sharp clacking sounds. The table rocked slightly and he dropt to one knee to keep his balance.

"What _are_ you doing, John?"

"Young Reubens - you know, the one staying over between terms - was working on a spell to animate a mouse skeleton and got the potency and range a bit too strong. All the bones in the school are rattling about of their own accord - "

"Oh no," said the man in the mirror. "Don't tell me that Poor Yorick is on the loose?"

"Yes he is, and I need both hands if I'm going to succeed in trapping him, so if you don't mind I'll call you back when things have calmed down a bit."

"Be careful. You're not as young as you once were."

"No one is, you dreadful man," said Segundus to John Childermass, the love of his life. He put the mirror away and called: "Mrs Pleasance! Are you ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be," said the housekeeper, who was standing in the doorway with a broom clutched in her hands. "Here I come!" She approached the table and jabbed underneath it aggressively with her chosen weapon.

The clacking grew louder. Segundus leaned out, holding the washing basket poised and ready. Peering into the under-table darkness, he could see a long, pale thing moving about. Mrs Pleasance must have made a particularly accurate stroke at this point, for the thing came rattling straight at him - an alligator skull, ivory-yellow, propelling itself with an odd, crablike scuttle by the constant snapping of its long jaws.

Partly by startled reflex and partly by design, Segundus dropt the basket. By happy chance it landed directly on top of his target. He hopped awkwardly down from the tabletop and flung himself on the basket, using his body weight to keep the flailing skull from continuing its jerky progress across the floor.

"There!" he said, slightly out of breath. "It is contained. Now all we must do is wait for Mr Reubens to end the spell."

"What if he can't, sir?" said Mrs Pleasance, tucking a stray wisp of white hair behind one ear. "We have plenty of souvenirs around this place from spells that haven't worn out yet. I still jump out of my skin every time Mrs Lennox says 'Good morning' to me." [1]

Segundus chuckled, shifting so that he was sitting upon the upturned basket instead of leaning on it. "As do I, Mrs Pleasance. I think she would find it an amusing legacy."

"What now?" said Mrs Pleasance. "Are you just going to sit on Poor Yorick until he stops a-twitching?"

"Yes," said Segundus. [2]

Mrs Pleasance was too well-bred to roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. "I'll get some tea for you while you wait, sir."

"Thank you, that's most kind." He watched her go - a bit bent by her seventy years but still more than up to the unique challenges that came with being housekeeper at a school for magic - and felt Poor Yorick bumping into the walls of its wickerwork prison beneath him. _I hope this basket is up to the task of containing him,_ he thought.

Then he remembered that he had promised to call Childermass back. He got the small mirror out again and said the spell of dissolution, summoning, and understanding that Hadley-Bright and Levy had finally perfected. [3] The surface of the mirror went cloudy, and then Childermass's face appeared in the glass.

"All sorted?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Essentially," said Segundus, as the alligator skull continued its attempt to snap through the basket.

"Why isn't Reubens doing the beast-catching, if this is his fault? Or one of the footmen? It would hardly do for the headmaster to have his leg bitten off."

"Reubens and the footmen - _and_ the gardener and stable hands - are quite busy enough at the moment. It seems Merlin has a large stockpile of the _disjecta membra_ of his past meals in the stable loft. They have reassembled themselves and are stampeding about – the horses are terrified, poor things. I was assisting them when we heard screams coming from the kitchen, and I went to investigate. Yorick had smashed his case and was making a horrible mess…thankfully the cook is light on her feet and escaped injury."

"Typical of that bird of yours to be causing mayhem – if indirectly – even when he's so decrepit he can barely fly anymore."

"Come now, he hasn't made trouble for a long time. He's enjoying a virtuous and peaceful retirement, getting fat off of kitchen scraps. He – oh, no – "

"What?"

"It seems – dear me – it seems that Poor Yorick is too much for this basket – he is breaking through. I must go, John. I shall contact you when – MERLIN! NO!"

*

In the library of Hurtfew Abbey, Childermass returned his mirror to his pocket.

"What was the point in that?" said Norrell, from where he lay propped up on a sopha. "You didn't tell him any thing! Again!"

"He was busy."

"Too busy to hear you out? This is _important,_ Childermass! It is _critical_! It could mean - it could mean - "

"We have no idea what it could mean. And if John Segundus is too busy to speak to me, you may be certain that he has an excellent reason. He will call me when he is able."

Norrell sniffed. "I do not see why you want to involve him at all. What possible contribution could a schoolmaster make in a situation like this?"

Childermass regarded his former employer wearily. Eleven years had not been enough to reconcile Gilbert Norrell to the fact that Childermass had no desire to return to his service, and that, when not traveling the country in his capacity as the Reader of the King's Book, he preferred to spend his time at Starecross Hall. (Reminders that it had been Norrell who dismissed Childermass in the first place were waved aside with an impatient "Yes, yes, but that was so long ago! Surely you could put that little matter behind you?") But Childermass also knew that gnawing at this old bone of contention would distract Norrell from his present worries, so he deliberately took the bait.

"John Segundus is far more than a schoolmaster, sir, as you are well aware. If you wish me to remain willing to work with you, you had best guard your tone. After all, I share his profession."

"Nonsense. Having a room at a school and giving the occasional lecture does not make you a schoolmaster. Segundus is a schoolmaster through and through, no matter what his prowess in other areas. Not that there is any thing wrong with that," he added, seeing Childermass's brow lower further. "I am only wondering how he can help with – all this.”

“How will we know unless we ask him?” said Childermass. “He was one of the people present at your return, Mr Norrell. He is one of the few who have met Dantès. He has just as much right to be involved as I have.”

“Fine, fine.” Norrell fidgeted with the rug drawn over his legs. “What is taking Mr Strange so long!” he burst out. “I summoned him at least an hour ago! Why has he not come?”

“Mr Strange has many responsibilities, sir.”

“What could possibly be more important than this? Where did you say he was?”

“In London. The family went up last week. Shopping for Miss Esme’s school things.”

“I fail to see why it should require Mr Strange’s presence. Surely his wife is capable of overseeing such a task on her own?”

“No doubt she is, but I rather think Mr Strange would be reluctant to give up the chance to visit that particular venue with the full blessing of the Others.”

The wrinkles of Norrell’s puckered face deepened as he scowled in irritation. “I do not see the point in your endless quest to win their confidence, Childermass. If they wish to remain hidden, let them! So much the better! There is more than enough confusion and dissent in the magical community without adding another factor.”

“You know why I pursue it, sir. It is for the same reason that Mr Strange pursues it – the same reason that all who take the words of the King’s Book to heart pursue it. Miss Esme getting that letter has been our first real chance. We’d be fools to let it slip past.”

“ _Hogwarts,_ ” muttered Norrell, with profound contempt. “What a name for a school - not remotely respectable. It sounds like a fungal complaint.”

The mirror in Childermass’s pocket made a noise like silver bells tinkling. Turning his back on Norrell, he pulled it out again and peered into the glass. “Ah, there you are! Is everything – “ He stopt. Segundus seemed to have aged ten years in the time since they last spoke. His hair was mussed, there was a smear of blood on one cheek, and his eyes were red, as though he had been weeping. “John! Are you all right? What happened?”

“I am fine,” said Segundus, in blatant defiance of appearances. “I am unharmed. Poor Yorick has been de-animated.”

“Then what – “

“It’s Merlin,” said Segundus. His voice was level. “He attacked Poor Yorick. Yorick got ahold of him. Merlin did not survive.”

Childermass’s heart sank. “I’m coming. Hold on.”

“No, stay where you are,” said Segundus. “I know you are working on something important. This is nothing. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“It is _not_ nothing. I’ll be there shortly.” Childermass broke the connexion and turned to Norrell, who tried (unsuccessfully) to look as if he had not been eavesdropping. “I must go at once, sir.”

“Oh, wonderful!” said Norrell. “By all means, leave me on my own to await the arrival of an insane Frenchman! Why should I need any body’s help? I can look after myself quite well. I’m merely eighty-three.”

“Only when it suits you, sir,” said Childermass. [4]  
*

Segundus put the mirror in his pocket.

He listened to Reubens’ frantic apologies and shook the young man’s hand, assuring him that he bore him no ill-will.

He told Mrs Pleasance to dry her tears, and asked her to see if Young Harry was available to do a spot of digging.

He picked up the bundle at his feet – wrapped in a linen tea towel, its snowy whiteness a stark contrast to the blood seeping through – and carried it out to the garden. Young Harry (who was forty-five if he was a day) met him by the shed that was collapsing slowly under the wisteria’s massive embrace. Young Harry did not ask any questions, except to inquire where the hole should be.

He told Young Harry to dig at the foot of a certain oak tree.

He watched Young Harry work until the hole was deep enough to provide protection from scavengers.

He gave the bundle to Young Harry, who placed it at the bottom of the hole, shoveled the loosened earth back on top of it, and tamped it down firmly. Then Young Harry touched his cap respectfully and walked away, his spade over his shoulder.

Segundus sat down on a wrought-iron bench overhung by a thicket of roses and waited.

Presently he said: “I told you not to come.”

Childermass sat down beside him. “I have never excelled at doing what I’m told.”

Segundus smiled.

Childermass said: “Where is he?”

“Over there. Under that oak.”

The silence stretched out, not truly silent at all, but filled with the sounds of bees ( _Singing masons building roofs of gold_ , thought Segundus), leaves rustling in the soft wind, birds chattering, doors closing and children shouting in the distant village.

“Will there be a marker?” said Childermass.

“No. I will remember the place. You should too,” said Segundus. “That’s the tree from which you fell, the first time you met him.”

“That d----d bird. Scared the life out of me.” When it became clear that Segundus was not going to say any thing else, Childermass asked: “What happened?”

“Well, as you know, I had trapt Poor Yorick under the washing basket, but he bit through and got me by the foot. His teeth went right through the leather. Thankfully it was at the very tip, so it did not hurt me.” He lifted his right foot. The shoe had several impressive punctures in the toe. “This was when Merlin came flapping in from the kitchen. You know how he is. Was. He went right for Poor Yorick, pecking and swearing – I don’t know if he was defending me, or just asserting dominance – but Yorick’s mindless snapping somehow caught him. That’s when Reubens finally managed to end the spell, but it was too late. Merlin’s back was broken, and one wing was partly torn off. He was suffering. I had no choice.”

“ _Animam Evocare_?”

Segundus nodded. He could see Childermass watching him out of the corner of his eye. He knew he should say something more – should give Childermass some kind of clue as to how he was feeling – but the truth was that he hardly knew what he felt. Disbelief, mostly. He had wept when he saw the raven’s ruined body, and while saying Stokesy’s spell, and when his fingers had crushed the tiny pearl of light that was Merlin’s life. After that, the bleeding heap of crumpled feathers had ceased to be Merlin, and he had wept no longer.

“I suppose it’s how he would have wanted to go,” said Childermass.

“In a squabble with an enchanted alligator skull?”

Childermass grinned. “No. I meant that he must have been glad that it was you who released him, at the end.”

“Thanks very much,” said Segundus, his eyes stinging. “That’s just the sort of thing to make me feel better.”

“I’m sorry.” Childermass did not put his arm around him – they were visible from some parts of the house, and Young Harry was still somewhere about – but he leaned sideways, so that their shoulders touched. “You’ll have to make do with me now.”

“What, as my replacement raven?”

“Yes. Look, I’ve already memorized the dress code,” said Childermass, indicating his clothing, which was all black but for his shirt and cravat. “Even if my feathers have lost a bit of their luster.”

“There’s more to being a raven than wearing black,” said Segundus. “Let’s see – you must be skilled with words – inherently magical – “

“ – inclined to petty thievery – liable to snap at anyone who isn’t John Segundus – “

This made Segundus laugh. “You’re right, you are qualified. But do not leave out the most important thing.”

“Which is?”

“You must always come back to me.”

“That I could never forget.”

They leaned against each other more firmly, the increased pressure of their shoulders taking the place of more demonstrative declarations.

“Now,” said Segundus, “what was so important that you wanted to talk to me over the mirrors?”

“Are you sure you want to go into that now?”

“Thinking about something else will be most welcome. Tell me.”

“Do you remember Edmond Dantès?”

“I should think so,” said Segundus, flooded by memories of that surreal afternoon in Hanover-square. He could almost smell the rose-water scent of the hookah. “Has he been in contact with Mr Norrell and Mr Strange?”

“He has. He wants them to make good on the favor they owe him.”

“After so long! I thought he would never be heard from again! What does he want, precisely?”

“He did not say. His letter was brief to the point of being cryptic. He said he would be at Hurtfew Abbey at dawn tomorrow, said that he looked forward to seeing Norrell and Strange at that time, and said that he needed their advice and assistance. That was all.”

“Is he traveling by magic, then? It would take a coach at least two days to get to Hurtfew from London, so he would have had to leave almost as soon as he posted the letter to get there by tomorrow morning.”

“He did not say one way or the other. I do not think self-confidence is a quality that Dantès lacks. He may even have posted the letter after setting out – it was more of an announcement than a request.”

“And he contacted Strange as well?”

“Yes. Strange says he will arrive by the King’s Roads tonight. What about you, John? I wanted to ask you if you would come back to Hurtfew with me, before all this business with Reubens’ spell. You can spend the night and be ready to receive Dantès with the rest of us in the morning.”

“Will Mr Norrell mind?”

“At the moment he minds everything. I have not seen him so vexed since he found out about the Other Minister. Do not let it bother you. He wants me there; I want you there.”

“All right. I will come.”

“Oh!” said Childermass, sounding surprized at this swift acquiescence. “Excellent.”

“Did you think you would have to convince me?” said Segundus, getting to his feet.

“I wasn’t sure. I thought you might be reluctant to leave, after – well – “

“After Merlin. No. No, I am sad that he is gone. I will continue to be sad for some time. But I will not linger at his grave and water it with my tears.” He held out a hand. “Come, venerable sir, let me help you up.”

“Why thank you, young fellow,” said Childermass, allowing himself to be pulled upright. “Have you got something red to wear on the roads?”

“I have my muffler – though it’s a bit warm for that,” said Segundus. “Can I not skip it this once?”

“Heaven help us! I never thought the day would come when I would have to lecture you on caution, John Segundus. No, you cannot skip it this once. I know you are having the devil of an afternoon, but that’s no reason to get careless. Faerie must not be traveled lightly. If there is any thing that can give us an advantage, no matter how slight, we will use it.” He plucked one of the crimson roses that nodded over their heads and inserted it in the buttonhole of Segundus’s lapel. “There. That will do very well.”

“For silence,” said Segundus, brushing his fingers across the velvety petals. Then, because the events of the day were making him wistful and gloomy, he added: “The story of our lives.”

“It could be worse, love,” said Childermass gently. “We’re bound and muzzled when not in private, but at least we can be bound and muzzled side by side.”

“True.” Segundus mustered a smile. “What about you, John? Shall we have matching boutonnières? Or I could weave you a crown of roses...”

“Now that would be a sight. But I think I can spare you the trouble. This is what I used on the way over.” He took something from his pocket and pulled it on over his iron-grey hair. It was a Phrygian cap, somewhat the worse for wear. Segundus shouted with laughter, his sorrows entirely eclipsed for the moment by the sight of Childermass looking like an elderly _sans-culotte_ of the French Revolution.

“Wherever did you get that?”

“I found it in the back of a cupboard in my room a while back. Another of Starecross’s bottomless supply of oddities.”

“It suits you – undoubtedly because of your deep-seated revolutionary tendencies.”

“Me? Of the two of us, I think you are the real revolutionary, John. Now, are you ready?”

“Just give me five minutes to change my shoes and tell Mrs Pleasance where I am going.”

*

The weather of the Roads often reflected that of England. Today the air was warm as Childermass and Segundus picked their way down what felt like miles of mossy spiral staircases. The sky was not dark enough to be called night, but the stars shone in it brightly, adding another note of otherworldly beauty to their surroundings.

Segundus groaned when they finally reached level ground. “Dear me, that’s hard on the joints!” he said, standing on one leg and flexing the other.

“It’s the climbing back up that I don’t like,” said Childermass. “Makes me pant like a dog.”

“You shouldn’t smoke so much.”

“Nonsense.”

Suddenly a spark of color caught Segundus’s eye. “What’s that?” he said, pointing to the left. About twenty yards away, a low archway opened in the wall of an edifice so tall and crumbling that it could only have remained upright in a world where the very air was thick with magic. A small figure stood just inside the archway. It wore a red cloak.

“Could be Little Red Riding Hood,” said Childermass, with perfect seriousness.

They had stumbled into fairy tales before while on the Roads. It was always unsettling and often dangerous. They had once been nearly flattened by a chase between Jack the Giant-Killer and the giant, who had some objections to being killed.

Segundus was busy scanning the area for wolves and did not reply. Then two other figures – one noticeably taller than the other two – appeared behind the one in the cloak.

“Grandmother and the woodcutter, perhaps,” said Segundus.

Childermass huffed a laugh. “I think not. Take a closer look at the tallest one.”

Segundus squinted – his long-distance vision was not good – and then exclaimed: “Oh! It is Mr Strange! Then that must be Mrs Strange and Miss Esmerelda with him! I did not realize the whole family was coming to Hurtfew.”

“Neither did Mr Norrell,” said Childermass, with all the relish of a connoisseur of awkward social situations.

The small family had noticed them now. Jonathan Strange waved and hallooed enthusiastically. The two groups moved toward each other and soon met by a tree with purple leaves and green flowers.

"This is an unexpected pleasure!” said Segundus, removing his hat and bowing. “Can I assume your destination is also Hurtfew Abbey?”

"Yes, indeed,” said Strange, bowing back. Like Norrell, his time trapped in the Pillar of Darkness had set his age back by just over a decade. His reddish hair had lightened by a shade or two, and his ironic smile creased his face into more lines than it once did, but he was still recognizably the same nearly-handsome magician who had been astounding Britannia since 1809.

Arabella, wearing a fringed red Indian shawl around her shoulders, stood very close to Strange. Although she kept looking about her with understandable apprehension, she was able to manage a warm smile in greeting. Holding onto Arabella's arm was a girl of ten or eleven. She had Arabella’s dark hair, Strange’s long nose, and the red cloak they had first noticed.

“I see you are taking no chances with Miss Esmerelda’s safety,” said Childermass, motioning to the cloak.

“Merely a precaution,” said Strange. “I am still not sure how much good the color red actually does, but it can hardly hurt. It do honestly think it helped me come to my senses when I was following old King George in his red nightcap…whose choice of headgear you are emulating, I see! I went the same route as Mr Segundus, myself.” He adjusted the rose in his lapel. “I know Mr Norrell will be a bit put out by us arriving in force like this, but – “

“It is entirely my doing,” said Arabella. “Jonathan had to respond to the summons, of course – we can refuse nothing to M’sieur Dantès, after what he did for us. But there was no way he could have made it in time without traveling the Roads. I do not like him traveling the Roads. So we compromised. Whatever befalls him, befalls all of us.”

“We have had enough of separation,” said Strange, sharing such a tender look with his wife that Segundus was almost embarrassed to have witnessed it.

“I can certainly understand that,” said Childermass. “Let us continue together, then!”

Segundus saw the tension in the set of Arabella’s jaw. _Poor, brave woman,_ he thought. _It must be a terrible ordeal for her, being here. Maybe I can distract her._

“May I have the honor of escorting you, Mrs Strange?” he said, offering her his arm. “It has been long since we had the chance to talk.”

“Why, yes, of course, Mr Segundus,” she said, taking his arm with another of her bright smiles. “Esme, take my other hand – there. Now we may proceed.”

“What? Am I not suitable, Bell?” said Strange, feigning indignation at being cut out, but giving Segundus a glance full of gratitude.

“You and Mr Childermass can shew us the way,” said Segundus.

“Come then, Childermass! Since we have been rejected as companions for the ladies, let us blaze the path,” said Strange. “By the way, I meant to congratulate you.”

“What for?” said Childermass.

“Your fashionable appearance.”

“You’re babbling.”

“Indeed not! Beards are very much worn right now. You have achieved the look of the moment at last.”

“Then I won’t spoil it by pointing out that I only started wearing it so that I could stop shaving altogether,” said Childermass.” ( _And because I told him that I liked it,_ thought Segundus.) “But enough about my appearance, riveting though it may be. I want to know what you saw in London.”

“It was like this – “ began Strange.

Segundus, walking rather slowly to allow for Esme’s shorter stride, let Strange and Childermass get a little way ahead before engaging Arabella in conversation. “Mr Childermass tells me that you have met Professor Everard, Mrs Strange,” he said.

“Yes, he brought us Esme’s letter in person a fortnight ago – the day after her eleventh birthday.”

“What did you think of him?”

“He was very pleasant and well spoken, if a bit eccentric. He was wearing a robe, of all things – reminiscent of academic dress, but of a deep blue color, with silver embroidery about the hem. Indeed, if his manner had not been so refined, I do not think the maid would have admitted him to the house, even though she is accustomed to all sorts of peculiar individuals calling on Jonathan.”

“Professor Everard is a remarkable man,” said Segundus, as he helped Arabella and Esme over a small crevasse in the path, from which issued a mist that smelled of black pepper. “I have only had the pleasure of meeting him once – some years ago, before he became headmaster at Hogwarts – but I liked him. He has a keen mind and a kind heart. I must admit, I had hoped that Miss Esme might attend Starecross someday, if she wished to pursue magical studies. But I think that this will be even better.” He smiled down at Esme, who had been listening to all of this with a dubious expression. “The things you will _learn_ , Miss Esme! I am quite envious! You must be very excited.”

Esme made a noncommittal noise.

“Answer Mr Segundus properly, Esmerelda,” said Arabella.

“I do not know, sir,” said Esme. “I do not wish to leave Mama and Papa, but Professor Everard says we can write to each other as often as we like – and the letters will be delivered by owls! Papa says I might even have one of my very own! Then I can teach it to sit on my shoulder, like Merlin!” (Esme had met the raven on her last visit to Starecross, and had been most impressed.)

“Ah,” said Segundus, trying to decide whether or not this was the time to tell Esme about Merlin’s demise. He took the coward’s way out and temporized. “Er – I’m sure you will, Miss Esme. Now, how will you be getting to Hogwarts? Will you have to take the Roads again?”

“Happily, no,” said Arabella. “The Professor said something about the Roads not leading into Hogwarts, but only out of it – or at least, I think that is what he said – at any rate, he recommended taking the train from Glasgow.”

“What! Hogwarts is accessible by train?”

“Apparently. We are to go the terminus at Bridge Street.”

“Professor Everard said that the passenger cars are pulled by a scarlet steam locomotive!” said Esme, sounding more excited by this than about any other aspect of the new world to which she had inadvertently gained admission.

“A scarlet steam locomotive? Is it really? Now that is interesting,” said Segundus, half to himself. “There may be no connexion – but on the other hand – I must remember to mention this to John…” His voice trailed off as he became engrossed in his own thoughts.

“Now, Mr Segundus, you cannot say things like that and then leave us wondering,” said Arabella, giving his arm a squeeze. 

"I beg your pardon, Mrs Strange – I did not mean to be rude," said Segundus. "I will be happy to explain, though you must tell me if I begin to bore you. Thirteen years ago, Mr Childermass and I were called upon to investigate a case of mass amnesia at the railway in Crewe. All the railway workers - more than a hundred of them - felt sure that they had misplaced something, but could not recall what. All they could tell us was that, judging by the number of paint tins lying about the place, the missing thing was probably large, and painted bright scarlet. The fact that all of them experienced the same feeling led their superiors to conclude that they had had some spell cast on them, and to request our aid."

"Was it magic?" asked Esme.

"It was - but no magic we were familiar with. It proved impossible to reverse the effects. They never did remember what it was they had forgotten. It simply ceased to worry them after a time. There was one other strange thing: at the same time when this loss of memory happened, a large amount of gold bouillon, worth approximately one million pounds, turned up in the company safe."

"Oooh," said Esme, her eyes shining. "What did they do with it?"

"They waited to see if someone would come forward and claim it, or at the very least take the credit for this extraordinary gift. But no one did. I think they ended up investing it, but still keep the capital intact, ready to give back should the rightful owner ever reappear.

“Anyway – to make a long story short, it was our investigation into this odd event that finally led us to meeting the Others. Well, I say ‘our investigation,’ but it was all Mr Childermass. He has always had a bit of a bee in his bonnet about the Others, and the business at the railway was turned out to be exactly the opportunity he needed to push his way in. He can be downright bullheaded at times, and I think they finally allowed us to make contact out of sheer irritation…but that’s neither here nor there.

“What I am wondering is if the thing taken was, in fact, the locomotive that now pulls the train to Hogwarts? From what we have seen, the Others’ grasp of technology is rudimentary. They use magic for everything, and so have no need to invent mechanical things to aid them, as we do. But if they needed something to move large numbers of students about…” He shrugged. “I do not know. It is a possibility.”

“You could be right,” said Arabella, after pondering this labyrinthine narrative. “At least, whatever it is that was taken, it was paid for.”

“I don’t mind if they can’t make trains without our help,” said Esme, not terribly interested in the problems of mass transit in the magical world. “They have such marvelous sweets! See, I brought some with me!” She plunged her free hand into her pocket and pulled out a rumpled brown paper parcel.

“Oh – Esme – I don’t think – “ began Arabella, but Esme had already reached across her mother and handed the parcel to Segundus.

“What is it?” he said, taking it cautiously in his free hand.

“You’ll see!” said Esme, bouncing in excitement. “Take one out, go on!”

The path now wound through a forest of skeletal trees (quite literally, realized Segundus, recognizing the shapes of bones silhouetted against the sky). Childermass and Strange were some paces ahead. Arabella was resolutely not looking at the trees, but her face was pale. _If I must risk my fingers to divert Mrs Strange from her fears, so be it,_ thought Segundus. “I must let go of you for a moment, Mrs Strange, forgive me,” he said, and reached into the parcel.

He felt nothing more alarming than a selection of small cardboard boxes. Relieved, he removed one and held it up for a better look. The box was about three inches across, purple, and embellished with intricate gild edging. _Honeydukes’ Chocolate Frog_ was stamped across the box in Gothic lettering.

“Open it!” urged Esme. “But be careful – don’t let it get away.”

Segundus slowly opened the box. He had just time to see that it contained a piece of dark, shining chocolate in the shape of a small frog before the thing stirred and gave a tremendous leap. It landed on the back of Childermass’s cap. Segundus darted after it, snatching reflexively. His hand closed over both the frog and part of the cap, so that when he drew it back to examine his prize, the cap came too. Childermass stifled an oath, turning to fix Segundus with an incredulous stare.

“What are you playing at, sir?” he said.

“I beg your pardon – I was trying to catch a chocolate frog,” said Segundus, with as much aplomb as was possible for a man uttering such a sentence. He opened his hand. The frog sat placidly on the tattered red hat like any other piece of confectionery. “Fascinating! Opening the box must activate the motion charm, but it is finite – “

“Well, of course, or you’d never get to eat it,” said Esme, in the tone of someone explaining something painfully obvious. “Are you not going to taste it, Mr Segundus?”

Segundus good-humoredly took a bite. It was not at all like the thick, somewhat bitter drinking chocolate he and Mr Honeyfoot sometimes took on winter nights. It was smooth, sweet, and altogether a taste experience that would have made him close his eyes and make an indelicate noise, had he been alone.

“Now _that_ is truly magical,” said Segundus, while his companions laughed. “Give Mr Norrell one of those, Miss Esme, and all his doubts about the advantages of Other magic will be swept aside!”

The exit to Hurtfew Abbey came up not long after this.

“I think I should go first and let Mr Norrell know who is here,” said Childermass.

“Probably wise,” said Strange.

Childermass went through the mirror (which, from this side, looked like a door at the end of a tunnel made of interlaced briars). The Stranges and Segundus could see him speaking to Norrell, who was still supine on the sopha.

“Can he see us?” asked Esme.

“Yes, if he troubles himself to look,” said Strange. “I think he has had enough warning now. Let us make our entrance and force him to be civil.” Taking Arabella and Esme by the hand, he flashed a smile at Segundus and led them through to the library.

*

By the time the Stranges emerged, Childermass had retreated into the background to watch the fun and to wait for Segundus. _Ah, there he is,_ he thought, when the familiar figure slipped through Norrell’s access mirror in his usual self-effacing manner. Segundus looked around the beautiful, book-lined room with the same admiration and delight that he shewed every time he entered it. Then he saw Childermass and sidled over to stand with him.

"Is something wrong? You look quite grim," whispered Segundus.

“It must be because I can never see you in this room without remembering the first time I saw you here.”

“And that upsets you?”

“No – it makes me want to simper and sigh like a schoolgirl. The effort to quench that urge makes me look forbidding.”

Segundus gave Childermass the look of irritated affection he had been hoping for, then said: “How is Mr Norrell taking it?”

“Not too badly. Strange has done all the talking so far.”

“…must ask your pardon for arriving _en masse_ like this, with no warning,” Strange was saying.

“Well, well,” said Norrell, waving a hand irritably. “I must say – it is not ideal – it is not prudent – but what’s done is done.” Then, prompted by some dim remembrance of social protocol, he nodded at Arabella and Esme and performed a kind of jerky half-bow, which was the best he could manage from his position. “Welcome to Hurtfew Abbey, Mrs Strange, Miss Strange. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired? I will have the servants prepare rooms for you, if you wish to retire…”

“Thank you, sir,” said Arabella, restraining the slightest hint of amusement at Norrell’s eagerness to be rid of her and her daughter. “You are all kindness and hospitality. We have come but lately from our tea, and do not require any thing to eat or drink at the moment.”

“Would _you_ like something to eat, sir?” said Esme, holding out a Chocolate Frog box.

Norrell grunted and took it. (“This ought to be entertaining,” murmured Segundus. Childermass snorted.) After a brief hesitation, he opened the box, wearing the expression of deep suspicion and deeper interest that he always assumed when encountering a new magical object.

There followed an exciting interval which culminated in a brilliant capture by Mr Norrell, who leapt from his couch almost as fast as the frog he was pursuing. He retired to his original seat, out of breath but triumphant, clutching the frog and theorizing as Segundus had done, though at greater length. Much like when he had first encountered Strange, actually seeing Other magic performed in front of him filled him with delight. The frosty atmosphere in the room warmed by an appreciable number of degrees.

When a footman came in half an hour later with refreshments for his master and the guests, Norrell was sitting in the middle of the sopha with Esme and Arabella on either side of him, in animated discussion with Strange (who sat before them on a tufted ottoman) about the use of wands.

“It seems to be one of the clearest differences in our types of magic,” said Strange. “Why should we, the magicians, be able to do magic with nothing but words, while the wizards require wands to do nearly every spell they have?”

“Perhaps we are simply better at it,” said Norrell. He was holding a thin piece of wood (about ten inches long and tapering smoothly to a point) close to his eyes and examining it minutely. “What did you say this was made of?”

“Hornbeam, sir, with a core of dragon heartstring,” said Esme.

“ _Dragon,_ ” said Norrell. “Ha. And how does it work?”

“I do not know,” said Esme. “When I picked it up in the shop, it felt warm and then made purple sparks, but Mr Ollivander said I am not to try to use it again until I am at school.”

“Hmm.” Norrell gave the wand an experimental wave. When nothing happened, he handed it back to Esme. “Fortunately, we have no need for such items. Perhaps the Others simply lack mental vigor.”

Childermass saw Segundus – who was busying himself with the teapot – frown at this statement. So did Norrell, who instantly took him to task.

“You disagree, Mr Segundus?”

"I beg your pardon, Mr Norrell. I was only thinking that there are could be different explanations.”

“Such as?”

“Such as – well – one must take into account the disparity between our magic and Other magic. Ours is – er – _wild_ \- we can barely call it 'ours,' in truth. Whereas theirs seems almost – "

"Domesticated?" said Childermass, distributing tea cups to everyone.

"Yes, exactly. Comfortable. They are a society that has used magic in every aspect of its daily life for thousands of years. They have systematized it. Perhaps in doing so they have, maybe accidentally, placed a distance between themselves and the original essence of their magic. Perhaps the Others need a powerful object such as a wand to concentrate and focus their magic, whereas we have more than we know what to do with.”

"Two sides of a coin,” said Strange.

“No, sir – different branches of the same tree,” said Childermass. “Like it says in the King’s Book – and they must grow together if the tree is to reach its full potential.”

“I always thought the ‘branches’ referred to Strangite and Norrellite magic,” said Arabella.

This topic provided them with enough to keep the magicians talking almost indefinitely. Norrell accused Segundus’s theory of being simplistic; Segundus said that Norrell’s viewpoint did not take into account the number of things the Others might be able to teach them; Strange and Childermass carried on a simultaneous discussion in which they debated the likelihood of the world at large reacting well to learning about the Others; Arabella listened to each argument in turn as it caught her interest, making friendly but pointed comments whenever things seemed to be quieting down.

They had been at it for over an hour when Esme, who had been hiding yawns behind her hand for some time, drooped sideways onto Norrell’s shoulder, sound asleep. He froze and stared at Strange and Arabella, who could not help laughing at his petrified expression.

“You must excuse our daughter, sir,” said Arabella. “She has been in a state of high excitement for many days, and our walk along the King’s Roads was tiring for all of us. If you do not mind, I think she and I will accept the offer you made when we first arrived, and retire for the evening.”

"Of course!" said Norrell, radiating relief as Strange gently shook Esme awake and helped off the sopha. “I’ll have someone take you to your rooms.” He rang the bell and a footman appeared. “Is everything ready for Mrs Strange?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You will take her and Miss Esme to their rooms at once.”

“Very good, sir.”

“I’ll be along soon, Bell,” said Strange, as Arabella followed the footman out of the library, her arm around her drowsy daughter. “If Dantès is really coming at dawn, I don’t wan’t to stay up late.”

After the departure of the ladies, the four men sat in silence. The light of the long summer evening was draining from the sky, and the shadows crept out from corners and behind pillars.

Childermass smoked his pipe, running over the conversations of the past hour in his mind. He took particular pleasure in the vigorous debate between Segundus and Norrell – not because of the topic, but because it amused him to see Segundus holding his own in the discussion. There had been a time when Segundus would no more have dreamed of arguing with Norrell than with God Himself. _My sweet, bold John,_ he thought, watching Segundus get up and start perusing the precious bookshelves.

Norrell shot Segundus an exasperated look but did not object out loud. Instead, he started pelting Strange with the same questions he had fretted over with Childermass earlier that day. What did Dantès want? What should they do to prepare? Strange responded much as Childermass had, emphasizing the impossibility of knowing what to expect.

“We can’t know the future until it becomes the present,” he said. “I do wish you would stop worrying about it, sir. You are doing yourself no good at all.”

“The future!” said Norrell, and turned to Childermass. “Childermass – you know I do not approve of those cards you have always insisted on carrying with you – but – ?”

“Are you asking me to see what they have to say about Dantès?” said Childermass, in genuine surprize.

“I am,” said Norrell, looking as though he had been force-fed a frog – not the chocolate kind.

Childermass dealt the cards without further comment.

"Well?" said Norrell.

“He is traveling even now,” said Childermass, scanning the cards with practiced swiftness. “He has one companion with him. He is…afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” said Strange, looking over Childermass’s shoulder.

“I do not know. The cards are not more specific than that.”

This sent Norrell off on another rant about the colossal danger they were all in – “He has a djinni working for him! What could he want that a djinni could not provide? Depend upon it – it will be something so outrageous that even the djinni has balked!” – to which the other magicians listened for some minutes. Then Strange broke in:

“Sir – Mr Norrell, do attend to what I am saying! You may be right. You may be wrong. _We cannot know_ until Dantès gets here and tells us himself. You are doing yourself no good whatsoever by dwelling on it in this way. The best thing for all of us will be to go to bed now, and try to get some rest so that we will be in top form in the morning. No, sir,” he said, forestalling the outburst that Norrell obviously wanted to make, “that is my last word on the subject.”

Norrell held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. But I want us all in the breakfast room an hour before dawn.”

“Agreed.”

The bell was rung once more, and a footman appeared to help his master to his bedchamber. Strange, Childermass, and Segundus took a candle each and made their ways to their respective quarters, having been guests at the Abbey often enough to have rooms that were more or less permanently their own.

They came to Strange’s room first. He bade them goodnight and went in to join his wife and daughter. Another two minutes’ walk down the hallway brought them to Segundus’s door. “Goodnight, sir,” said Childermass. “Sleep well.”

“Thank you,” said Segundus. “I think I will read for a while first.” [5]

Childermass said: “What an excellent idea,” and continued to his room, where he locked the door behind him. Then he pressed the hidden catch in the decorative carvings of the mantelpiece that made the fireplace swing outward and, bringing the candle with him, carefully trod the narrow, cobwebby passage that brought him to the room where Segundus slept.[6]

When Childermass emerged from behind Segundus’s fireplace, Segundus looked at him over the top of the book he was reading and said: “Another classically Gothic entrance by John Childermass. Does Mrs Radcliffe base her characters on you or is it the other way around?”

“Oh, she bases them on me,” Childermass replied, setting his candle beside Segundus’s on the bedside table and brushing dust from his coat. “Hardly a month goes by when I do not receive a letter from her, begging for more specifics on my habits.”

“I see. Should I be concerned about your evident preference for slender and adventurous young women?”

“No, sir, you should not. That aspect is all Mrs Radcliffe’s invention. She did not think the public ready to accept my actual preferences, which tend toward smallish men with ink on their fingers and wickedness in their hearts.”

“That’s all right, then.” Segundus shifted over to make room for him. Childermass sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes.

“So, what do _you_ think Dantès will want?” he said, easing himself between the covers. “Ahhh, it feels good to lie down.”

“Haven’t we just spent a considerable amount of time explaining to Mr Norrell that speculation is pointless?” said Segundus, setting down his book and blowing out both candles.

“Yes, but I haven’t heard your opinion on the matter, and I am not afraid that you are going to work yourself in a fit of dyspepsia.”

Segundus slid down so that he was lying beside Childermass instead of sitting. “I have to admit, I am hard pressed to imagine any thing that Mr Norrell and Mr Strange can do that a djinni cannot do better. It may be that the djinni no longer works for him. Or perhaps it has nothing to do with magic, but is related to politics.”

“That’s a good thought,” said Childermass. “Both Strange and Norrell have many connexions in the British government.” He yawned. “I can’t quite bring myself to worry about it right now.”

“Likewise.”

They lay in the darkness for a long time. Childermass was floating in that enviable state of being just awake enough to know he was falling asleep when the haze was pierced by Segundus’s voice.

“What?” said Childermass groggily.

“I’m sorry, John, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was thinking out loud.”

“Yes, but what did you say?”

“ _To what unknown region borne/Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight?_ ”

“I know that, don’t I? What is it from?”

“Lord Byron’s translation of Hadrian’s farewell to his soul.”

“Of course.” Childermass grinned at the mention of the infamous poet, Jonathan Strange’s sometime companion during his time in Venice. Then he sobered, knowing what had brought that particular line to Segundus’s mind.

“Yes, I was thinking of Merlin,” said Segundus, although Childermass had said nothing aloud. “He was not exactly a ‘gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite,’ but he was a ‘friend and associate of this clay.’ Thirty years is a long time to spend with any one. It is odd, knowing I shan’t see him again.”

“Let’s have a wake,” said Childermass.

“What?”

“A wake. For Merlin.” Childermass sat up. “What does a wake require? People to remember the dead. Well, here we are.”

“Are you in earnest?” said Segundus, also struggling upright, his pillow-mussed hair standing out like a silver halo.

“Completely.” He reached across Segundus and fumbled about until he found the box of matches on the bedside table. He struck one, relit the candles, and said: “We’ll need some food if we’re to do this properly. I’m willing to bet you have some of those ginger biscuits Merlin was so fond of in your coat pockets.”

Segundus rolled his eyes. “There’s no stopping you, is there? Yes, fine, my coat is over there, draped over the mirror on the dressing-table.”

Childermass got out of bed, found the packet of biscuits (rather battered) and returned. Segundus had his eyes closed and was saying something under his breath. A moment later roses were climbing luxuriantly over the walls, ceiling, and furniture, indicating that he had cast a muffling spell. “Best to be safe.”

“The story of our lives,” said Childermass. “And most appropriate for the occasion. Here you go.”

“We shall get crumbs on the bed,” said Segundus, accepting a biscuit.

“The housemaids will giggle at your eccentric eating habits, to be sure.”

They ate a biscuit apiece, and then Childermass said: “Right. I’ll begin. Merlin was an irascible old villain. The first time I met him, he stole from me and frightened me out of a tree. We came to tolerate each other – mostly thanks to our mutual admiration for you, John – and while I can’t pretend that life will be harder with him gone, it will certainly be less exciting.” He raised the last bite of his biscuit in salute. “Here’s to you, Merlin. I wish you all the best in whatever world where you are now tormenting harmless citizens.”

They continued reminiscing about Merlin’s more flamboyant escapades for some time (there were plenty to chuse from). Segundus laughed until he cried, and then cried until he laughed. Then he talked about how he came to have Merlin in the first place. This made Childermass think of the days when he had first heard the story, when he and Segundus were not yet sure of each other’s affections. _The agony and the ecstasy,_ he thought. _Mostly agony._ He took Segundus’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“What was that for?” said Segundus.

“Nothing – only reminding myself what a fortunate fellow I am.”

“We have both been fortunate,” said Segundus.

Somewhere in the house, a clock struck eleven.

“We should get some sleep,” said Childermass. “Lucas will be knocking on doors to call us to breakfast before we know it.”

“All right,” said Segundus. “Thank you for the wake, John. It did help.”

“You’re welcome. I love you.”

“Why?”

“For personal reasons.”

“I love you too, my raven-man.”

The candles were put out once more, and again they lay in silence. Childermass rested his head on Segundus’s chest, his beard catching on the hairs that escaped the open neck of the other man’s shirt. _Cor cordis,_ he thought, listening to the steady beat beneath his ear. _Heart of my heart. And now we wait for the return of Edmond Dantes._

***

 

1 The portrait of Mr Segundus’s late patroness had been willed to him, along with ownership of Starecross Hall, when that lady had gone to her blessed rest three years before. Segundus hung the portrait over the library fireplace. Some months later, one of the students had tried out a variation of the spell that Mr Norrell had used that famous day at the cathedral in York. For reasons unknown, he had selected Mrs Lennox's painting as his subject. The spell succeeded in enabling her to speak. The problem was that she had not stopt speaking since. Not continually - which was a mercy - but once or twice a day it would offer a greeting or an observation to some servant, student, or teacher that caught its eye. The more conventionally minded residents of Starecross Hall hinted that it might be a good idea to move the portrait to a less trafficked area, but so far Segundus had remained deaf to these delicate suggestions. He had been very fond of Mrs Lennox. [return to text]

2Poor Yorick was the alligator skull that resided in a glass display case above the kitchen fireplace. It had acquired the sobriquet in the early days of the school, when a waggish student noticed it and began reciting _Hamlet_ , Act 5, Scene 1. [return to text]

3 The long-sought success of their pet project had brought these gentlemen considerable fame and even a bit of fortune, as people discovered the infinite usefulness of long-distance, face-to-face communication. Shops specializing in “talking mirrors” sprang up all over the country. The only drawback was that a pair of mirrors, once put under the spell, would only answer to each other, so a separate set had to be created for each new person one wished to contact. Particularly talkative people could be recognized by the large leather satchels they carried with them to accommodate their collections. [return to text]

4 Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell’s time in the Pillar of Darkness extended from 1817 to 1829. A little simple arithmetic shews us that if Norrell was sixty when he went in, he was seventy-two when he came out. From the point of view of the two magicians, however, they were gone for one year, not twelve. This discrepancy was the cause of much speculation by the general public. Would the magicians simply pick up where they left off, or would they gain back the missing years all at once? As time went by it became apparent that the former was the case rather than the latter. This meant that for the bulk of the time Norrell was blessed with the health and energy of a man more than ten years his junior. But when particularly vexed about something, he would suddenly claim to feel the full burden of his age and retire to the sopha in his library. Strange accepted his “extra” years as due payment for the anguish he and his wife had suffered, and many times expressed his pleasure that he still retained the color of his hair. [return to text]

5 This told Childermass that Segundus would welcome his company. They had developed many such harmless phrases to communicate their wants and intentions. For instance: “I am rather tired” meant “Frankly, I just want to be alone,” whereas “I shall go to bed at once” meant “I am restraining myself with difficulty from removing your clothing where we stand, so please come to me as soon as humanly possible.”[return to text]

6 Childermass and Segundus, having shared each other’s bed for over twenty years without being able to tell another soul about it, were skilled at finding ways around enforced separation. Being able to use any reflective surface as a passage to and from the King’s Roads was useful, but the risky (often downright dangerous) nature of the Roads made more mundane tactics preferable. At Starecross, this had been accomplished by some judicious shuffling of sleeping arrangements, providing them with rooms that connected by a door – the best and simplest solution. As this arrangement was not possible at Hurtfew Abbey, some subtle suggestions made to Lucas (now the butler) ensured that Segundus was installed in a room that featured a secret passageway leading to Childermass’s room. Childermass had discovered this passageway when he worked for Norrell, and never told any one else of its existence, although he had not found a practical use for this knowledge until now. [return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If JKR taught me anything, it's that you have to kill off a beloved pet bird to let people know Shit is Getting Real. No, not really - I wrote out Merlin's demise (sorry dude) and then was like "What does this remind me of...?" Ah well. Call it an inadvertent tribute to Hedwig.
> 
> I only recently figured out how to do footnotes (thanks Pudentilla!) so I hope you'll forgive me if I over-use them.
> 
> Segundus is quoting Shakespeare when he's thinking about the bees being "singing masons" - from Henry V.
> 
> Did I name Jonathan and Arabella's daughter after Terry Pratchett's Granny Weatherwax? Why yes, yes I did.
> 
> All that stuff about the Hogwarts Express is based on what I could glean from the Harry Potter Wiki archives...looks like, according to JKR, the HE started in 1827. King's Cross didn't exist till 1850, which is why I have them planning to board in Glasgow, where one of the first passenger railways did have its terminus. I JUST AM SO INTERESTED IN TRAINS YOU GUYS hope I don't bore you.


	2. What Dantès Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The magicians have breakfast with Edmond Dantès and discover what favor he is asking of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame Edmond Dantès for the size of this chapter...he brings massive blocks of dialogue and convoluted (yes, I said it) plots with him wherever he goes.

_He was being chased along the King's Roads by a swarm of alligator skulls. He was running - no, flying - but one wing would not work properly - an alligator skull as big as a house was ahead, facing him, its jaws wide and welcoming and made of the finest chocolate -_

When a persistent knocking on the door pulled Segundus from his dreams, his first feeling was one of relief. _There are no skulls. I am in bed at Hurtfew._ He opened his eyes and groaned. It was still pitch black.

"Urgh," said Childermass, somewhere in the dark. "Who is making that blasted noise?" The bed creaked as he rolled over, bringing his large, blunt nose up short against Segundus's narrow, pointed one.

"Lucas, I assume."

"Tell him to go boil his head."

"I will do no such thing. I'm removing the muffling spell now, so be quiet." Segundus said the incantation to remove the silence that had cocooned them and then called: "Yes, thank you! I am awake."

"Very good, sir," came Lucas's voice from the other side of the door. "Do you need any thing?"

"No, Lucas, I am all right. I will be in the dining room shortly."

Lucas's heavy tread continued down the passage.

"I'd better get to my room," said Childermass. "He'll be calling me next."

Segundus sat up and lit the candles. Childermass rubbed his face with both hands. "Why in G--'s name did Dantès say he'd meet us at dawn? Why not ten o'clock in the morning, or three in the afternoon, or any time but this?"

"Not suitably dramatic, I suppose," yawned Segundus. He swung his feet to the floor and stood up, stretching so that his joints popped. "Get a move on, then."

"There had better be grilled kidneys or I'm going back to bed," said Childermass, shuffling over to the fireplace with his shoes in one hand.

He need not have worried. Despite the early hour, Norrell's cook had taken advantage of the chance to display his skill before a larger audience than usual. The breakfast-room table featured not only grilled kidneys, but muffins, bread, preserves, oatmeal and sweet cream, sausages, mashed potatoes, and a basket of fruit, as well as coffee, tea, and chocolate.

Norrell sat at the head of the table and sipped his tea with lemon, watching the other three magicians fill their plates. He himself did not touch a crumb.

"You should eat something, sir," said Strange, through a mouthful of muffin slathered in strawberry jam. "None of us had a proper dinner yesterday."

"I am not hungry."

"Did you sleep, at least?" said Childermass, hunched over his second cup of coffee.

"An hour or two."

Segundus heard this with amazement. Norrell appeared as he ever did, from his smoking-cap to his carpet slippers, and shewed no signs of unusual weariness. _Fortunate man,_ he thought. _My eyelids feel as though they are lined with sand._ He added more sugar to his tea.

"I wonder what version of Dantès will be joining us today," he said. "Sinbad the Sailor, Lord Wilmore, or himself?"

"He has added other personas to his repertoire as well," said Strange.

"Indeed?" said Segundus. "How do you know?"

Strange looked sheepish. "I have kept an eye on our friend Dantès," he said. "Knowing that he might apply to us at any time asking for Lord-knows-what, and that we'd be obliged to do what he asked, I thought it wise to stay abreast of his activities. Through visions, of course. It made for intriguing watching."

"You did not mention this before!" said Norrell, affronted.

"There did not seem occasion to. I did not wish to fuel your - er - "

"Paranoia?" said Childermass under his breath, apparently addressing his coffee. Segundus (who sat across from him) gave him a reproving look.

" - your worries," finished Strange.

Norrell grunted. "Well, it is of no importance. I did the same on my own account."

"What did you learn?" said Segundus, looking from Strange to Norrell.

"The visions do not transmit sound, as you know, so I could only make guesses as to the meaning of what I saw," said Strange. "He spent a great deal of time traveling about Europe and parts of North Africa in various disguises. I saw him dressed as a smuggler, a fisherman, and a typical citizen of France, Italy, Greece, or what have you. At one time he favored going about as a priest, or as a gentleman with blond hair and whiskers; lately he has dressed fashionably and consorted with Parisian society. He has devoted much time to mastering the art of dueling, both with sword and pistol. I often see him in a room like a laboratory, messing about with powders and chemicals. Frankly, I do not know what to make of the fellow."

Norrell nodded. "I have seen the same, Mr Strange."

"What of the djinn?" said Childermass. "Did you see Ali?"

"Frequently. Always in the background, always looking like the Nubian servant he is supposed to be," said Strange. "I sometimes thought - "

"What?" said Childermass.

Strange scratched his head. "I sometimes thought that he perceived me when I called up the visions. But if he did know I was looking, he never took steps to prevent me."

"What that might portend, I cannot imagine," said Norrell, full of gloom.

Segundus looked out the window. The sky was still dark, but there was a suggestion of grey to the east. "What time is sunrise, exactly?" he said.

"According to the almanack, at a quarter to five," said Norrell.

Strange consulted his pocket watch. "That is twenty minutes from now."

Childermass grumbled something about "so d----d _early_ " and reached for the coffeepot again.

Segundus inquired after the welfare of Arabella and Esme, and Strange assured him that they were sleeping peacefully. Conversation dwindled. Everyone was watching the eastern window, and listening.

The sky went from grey to gold behind the forest of ancient timber that surrounded the abbey,. The mist that hung over the dew-soaked grass brightened. The air was filled with a cacophony of birdsong. The clock on the mantel struck three-quarters past the hour.

Nothing else happened, and continued to happen, for several minutes.

Norrell opened his mouth - doubtless to say something disparaging about Dantès lack of punctuality - when they heard footsteps approaching. The dining room door opened. It was Lucas.

"Yes, what is it, man?" said Norrell, while Segundus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"M'sieur and Madame Dantès," announced the butler, and stood aside to let the new arrivals enter the room.

Segundus recognized Dantès immediately. Time had been kind to him; he still had the same pale, handsome face, dark eyes, and wavy black hair. The chief difference was in his clothing. The last time they had seen him, he had worn Tunisian dress, complete with skullcap and dagger. Today he was dressed simply and impeccably in black.

The woman at his side was young - no more than twenty - and was dressed all in white. Her beauty called to mind the marble goddesses of Greece ( _From which land she surely hails,_ thought Segundus), brought to life in all the glory of skin rosy with health, soft black hair, coral lips, and lustrous eyes. She curtsied to the magicians as Dantès bowed and said: "Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for agreeing to meet me. This is my wife, Haydée, daughter of Ali Pasha. She is still in the process of learning English, but she can freely converse in French, Italian, and modern and ancient Greek."

The magicians all rose, bowed, and professed themselves delighted - all except Norrell, who was wearing his _I-swallowed-a-frog_ expression. There was a pause while every one waited for him (as the host) to say something. When it became clear that this was not going to happen, Strange said: "You must be tired - I am sure you have traveled all night! Do sit down and break your fast with us. As you can see, we have already begun."

Lucas helped the guests to their seats and poured them tea. They accepted the various edibles that were offered and began to partake with a willingness that would have eased Norrell's worries considerably, had he been aware of Dantès' views on eating with his enemies.[7]

Segundus watched Haydée with compassion. _How awkward she must feel, surrounded by strangers, magicians at that! And with a host who is plainly none too pleased to see her!_

Haydée, becoming aware of his gaze, paused in the act of peeling an orange and smiled at him cautiously. He smiled back and attempted a greeting in ancient Greek, it being the language he was most familiar with out of the ones Dantès had listed. Her smile broadened ( _No doubt at my abysmal pronunciation,_ he thought) and she responded in the same tongue:

"I perceive you are a scholar, sir!"

"In some things," he replied. "I fear dead languages come to me more easily than living ones."

"The dead are often less troublesome than the living," said Haydée, resuming her peeling. (Segundus saw Childermass scratch his bearded cheek abstractedly, and guessed that he was thinking of the scar left by someone who had once mistaken it for an orange.) "But not always."

Segundus did not think he had the vocabulary for a discussion in metaphysics - at any rate not without access to a Greek lexicon - so he took refuge in platitudes. "How was your journey, madame?"

"Long," said Haydée, "but not as long for me as for my husband, who drove us himself. Unlike him, I was able to sleep as we traveled."

Segundus noticed that she colored slightly and glanced at Dantès when she said "my husband." _Recently married, perhaps,_ he thought, with a surge of affection for the pair that was all out of proportion to the brief time he had spent in their company.

Norrell looked on with increasing impatience as the others ate, drank, and talked of polite nothings. Finally he cleared his throat and said: "If you are sufficiently refreshed, M'sieur Dantès, perhaps you could enlighten us as to the purpose of your visit. I take it this is not a social call?"

"No, sir, it is not," said Dantès.

"Then let us evade the matter no longer," said Strange. "Mr Norrell and I owe you our freedom, sir. We will be glad to repay you. What do you ask of us?"

Dantès folded his hands together and set them on the table in front of him. "Gentlemen," he said, "I want you to kill me."

Everyone stared at him. Finally Strange said: "I confess that I am at a loss, M'sieur. Surely this - _request_ \- is not something that requires our participation? There must be more to what you ask than what you are telling us."

"Of course there must be more - he has told us nothing!" said Norrell. "Come, M'sieur Dantès. You have had your moment. We are all much astonished. Would you be so good as to explain yourself?"

Dantès, smiling at the old magician as though pleased by his reaction, inclined his head and said: "You are correct, sir. If I wished to simply die, I would not need the aid of England's greatest magicians. I have at my command an array of potions and pills that would send me from this life as sweetly and painlessly as going to sleep after a day's hard labor. My problem is a complex one, and I earnestly hope that you can help me find my way out of it." He tapped a forefinger against his lips, apparently deciding where to begin. "Have you any idea how I have busied myself since I freed you from the Pillar of Darkness?"

"Some," said Strange, "but nothing specific."

"Briefly, then: with the aid of the fortune and education given to me by the Abbé Faria, and with the help of the djinni Ali, I succeeded in becoming the Count of Monte Cristo. As the Count, I was able to enter the social circle of my enemies, unrecognized, and crush them. One is dead, by his own hand; one is mad; the last I let live, after destroying his family, his fortune, and his reputation."

"Goodness," murmured Segundus, opening his eyes at this cold-blooded recital. He looked at Haydée, fearing that she would be distressed, but either because she could not follow Dantès' rapid English or for some other reason, her countenance was calm.

"I did what I set out to do," continued Dantès. "I have been the instrument of God's justice, to reward the good and punish the wicked. The burden of terrible purpose has been lifted from my shoulders. All I desire now is to spend what days are left to me in peace with my Haydée, who brought love and joy back to my heart when I thought those things long lost. I have given most of my fortune and property to the young people I consider my children. I have dismissed all my servants - except for Haydée's maids and my faithful Jacopo - leaving them free to enjoy the legacies I bestowed on them. There is but one person tying me to my former life."

"The djinni," said Childermass. He had gradually un-hunched while Dantès talked, and was now leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed.

"Yes. He will not leave me. He refuses to accept that I am finished. It took all my powers of persuasion to keep him from bringing about the death of the Baron Danglars, the last of my tormentors. It seems that Ali has grown to enjoy the process of inflicting intricate punishments upon those who have wronged me. It has been almost two years since I removed the mantle of judge and executioner, but Ali has not stopt. He has designs on - on the woman I once meant to marry, who wed one of my betrayers instead, and upon her son. I have no grudge against either of them. They have my pity and my friendship. But Ali will not stop.

"He has been gathering information on them, finding their weaknesses, ways to get close and ruin them - all the things he assisted me with before, when I was fixed upon my mission - and he will not accept my word that I bear them no ill-will. 'I must hold to our bargain. It will not be complete until the unfaithful woman and her son have been stamped out,' he said to me, the last time I tried to convince him that my work was done.

"Gentlemen, I cannot allow it. I must end my contract with Ali - I must seal him back within his bottle before he causes any further devastation. Or before he makes me do it for him. I have seen his powers and I tremble to think what might occur, should he turn them against me."

Segundus saw Norrell and Strange, who knew better than any one else the challenges of navigating verbal contracts with the inhabitants of Faerie, exchange a look.

"Do you recall the precise terms of the arrangement?" said Strange.

"I have spent many sleepless hours trying to reconstruct our first encounter," said Dantès. "You must understand, at the time I was in a state of excitement so high as to be near delirium - "

"The terms, sir, the terms!" cried Norrell. "Stop prevaricating! I am eighty-three years old and I haven't any time to waste!"

"The terms of our agreement - as I remember them - were that, instead of three wishes, Ali would bind himself to my service until my vengeance was complete. I assumed that this meant that he would work for me until I no longer wanted him to do so, at which point he would return to his bottle, but - " Dantès lifted his hands in resigned despair.

"The terms of your contract seem unfortunately loose," said Norrell, "as was no doubt the djinni's design. You say he is enjoying his current role. Is your participation necessary to him?"

"I fear so. His powers are great - his imagination, oddly, is not. I was the one who came up with the plans, who connected the threads into a web. He takes joy in seeing the elaborate build-up to the fall."

 _Like dominoes,_ thought Segundus, visited by the image of a man looking down at an immense and complicated pattern made out of thousands of dominoes, enough to cover the floor of a ballroom, and reaching out with one finger to knock over that first block. _A vast game played with human lives. Oh yes. I can see how that would be something that a djinni would like._

"So it is you that makes the combination dangerous," said Strange. "One of you is the powder, and the other the spark - though I confess I cannot make out which is which."

"Picturesquely put, sir," said Dantès.

"Well," said Norrell, "As you are no doubt aware, Mr Strange and I have had this problem before, in other circumstances. Now, as then, the surest way of breaking the contract is by the death of the enchanter. Frankly, sir, I would not hold out much hope for that method - it was only through the most extraordinary combination of events, which I have yet to fully understand, that the death of the fairy was effected in the case we encountered. The only other course of action I can think of that might be effective would be...to eliminate...er..."

Dantès smiled as Norrell stammered to a halt. "Yes. Me. Which brings us back to my original statement. As I said, I could arrange my own demise easily. What I want - what I am hoping you can help me with - is something that creates the illusion of my death, or that can bring me back to life once I have died." Haydée slipped her hand into his. He gripped her fingers briefly and continued: "If, at the last, the attempt fails and I am unable to return, I will be content. I would rather that than the alternative. But it is not my first choice."

"What are your thoughts on this, Madame Dantès?" said Segundus. He forgot to use ancient Greek but she must have understood him nonetheless, for she turned a face full of determination and sorrow upon him and replied in Romaic:

"I am willing to see done what must be done, whatever the cost. I do not fear separation by death." Very quietly, she added: "It will not last long."

There was silence around the table while the men absorbed her words. _So her life is at stake as well as his,_ thought Segundus, regarding her with a kind of horrified reverence. _To speak of following him into death so easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world! I do not know if I admire her or fear her._

"As I said, I have great skill with poisons," said Dantès, "which I have used on others in the past to produce an imitation of death that fooled even the most loving of eyes. If Ali had not been party to those schemes, I would have considered using them on myself, but as it is, he would not be fooled. I know that you, Mr Norrell, made a name for yourself with the resurrection of Lady Pole - and that while the feat was not without its difficulties, you are still the only man who has ever done such a thing. So I come to you and Mr Strange as my final earthly hope. Should it fail - I will throw myself upon the mercies of God."

Norrell had shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Lady Pole, and as soon as Dantès was done talking he said: "M'sieur, what you ask is impossible! If you want to free yourself of the influence of a djinni, the last thing we ought to attempt would be a dangerous experiment that might very well place you in the power of a fairy instead."

"If you have another plan, I shall be more than happy to hear it," said Dantès. "It is your expert advice and help that I have come so far to get."

"M'sieur Dantès," said Childermass, "why have you come so far, and at this time, without servants, as though fleeing in secret? We could have met you in London without all this drama."

"It is because we _are_ fleeing in secret. If Ali knew what I was really doing - I fear to contemplate what he might do in his wrath. I have left him and Jacopo on our sloop, having given them to understand that Haydée and I have taken a private holiday to the Lake District. They are taking the sloop around the southern end of England and back up the east coast, with the plan of meeting us at Whitehaven in a week's time. We must leave here tomorrow morning. Ali usually keeps to his human form, but should he abandon it and take to the air, he has the ability to travel hundreds of miles in a moment. Should he wish it, he might appear at my side at any time, and if he discovers that I have deceived him - "

"So you wish us to find a way out of your conundrum - _today_?" said Strange.

"Exactly."

"I will be honest with you, sir. I do not know if it can be done. But we will try."

"Thank you, Mr Strange," said Dantès. "I can ask no more."

Segundus let out a soft exclamation of alarm. Haydée, who had been so self-possessed at first, now looked as through she might faint. "The lady is not well!" he said. "Lucas, has there been a room prepared for her?"

"Yes, sir," said the butler, who had been standing quietly by the door all this time. "I can summon one of the maids to attend her, if you wish."

"I have a better idea," said Strange. "Lucas, please send someone to Mrs Strange's chamber and - no, never mind, I shall go myself, it will be easier if I explain it to her."

"Thank you, sir," said Dantès, as Strange unfolded his lanky frame from his chair. "It is most kind of you."

"Not at all. Mrs Strange would be quite vexed with me if she learned that I did not call her when someone needed her assistance," said Strange, and hurried from the room.

Dantès put a comforting arm around his wife. Segundus, fidgeting with the jar of marmalade that had somehow ended up by his plate, watched them with pensive sympathy.

Strange had not been away for more than five minutes when he returned with Arabella, who - judging by her appearance - had already been awake and dressed before her husband came for her. She curtsied perfunctorily to the magicians and went directly to Haydée.

"My dear, you are welcome here," she said. "My name is Arabella Strange. Would you like to change out of your traveling things and rest a little?"

"Thank you," said Haydée, in charmingly accented English. "I would be glad to, if - " She glanced inquiringly at Dantès.

"Refresh yourself, my love," said Dantès, rising and helping Haydée to her feet. "I shall not be far away."

"Yes, Edmond," said Haydée, giving him a grateful look and taking Arabella's arm

"Now," said Norrell, after the women had departed (Lucas accompanying them in order to guide them to the correct rooms), "I suggest we move to the library. I find it easier to think surrounded by books rather than the detritus of other people's breakfasts."

Everyone got up and followed Norrell's stooped figure through the winding passages of the abbey, which tended to grow more winding when one was making for the library, even when the labyrinth was not activated. Segundus and Childermass deliberately walked slowly, putting enough distance between themselves and the others that they could talk without being overheard.

"Are you all right, John?" said Childermass.

"Quite all right," said Segundus, in some surprize. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you ate almost half a pint of marmalade without noticing it."

"What? Nonsense."

"I saw you. Right from the jar, with a spoon. I recognize your symptoms of distress, my dear sir."

"I am sure you are exaggerating," said Segundus, raising an involuntary hand to his lips. _Oh dear - I am a bit sticky._ "Perhaps a bite or two...it was not as good as what we make at Starecross."

"What has upset you?"

"I suppose it is that I fear we will fail in this bizarre endeavor."

"Why? Dantès seems resigned, no matter what the outcome - so long as the djinni is contained."

"But his wife! She is so young, and she loves him so. I do not want that on my conscience."

"I know," said Childermass. "They are an odd pair. They have an easy intimacy with death that is - "

"Unchristian?"

"I was going to say un-English. Although I suppose we are the last people to look askance at lovers unwilling to be parted by a trifle such as death."

Segundus smiled. "I am still waiting for you to submit our new and improved marriage vows to the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"I might, if I wasn't afraid of giving the old chap an apoplectic attack. Come, let us pick up the pace - the others are already there."

They quickened their steps. By the time they emerged into the library, Norrell had ensconced himself at the largest reading desk, so absorbed in issuing instructions to Strange that he did not even bother to scowl at Dantès, who strolled about with his hands behind his back, examining the books.

"I want Hogarth and Pickle's _Anatomie of Fairies_ \- no, to your left - and _The Excellences of Christo-Judaic Magick._ "

"You surprize me, sir!" said Strange, who had heard Norrell's opinion of that work many times before.

"Yes, yes, I know, but it might - ah, Childermass! If you and Mr Segundus could look for _Death's Library_ \- I think it is on the topmost shelf of that case behind you - although I do not know if Watershippe has any thing useful to say - "

"What precisely are you looking for?" asked Dantès, after watching this go on for quarter of an hour or so.

"Information and spells regarding death - causes, prevention, and so on - and also the ending of magical contracts," said Norrell.

"So you think to kill me by magic?"

"We think to end your predicament and save your life by magic," said Strange. "Is that not what you came to us for?"

"It is. I only wonder if Ali, as a creature of magic, would not be able to divine your attempts at deception as easily as he would my own, were I to attempt to fool him using poison."

"A good point," said Childermass, finally locating _Death's Library_ and handing it down to Segundus, who brought it to Norrell.

"I do not know," said Norrell, taking the book. "I have not dealt with djinn before. Perhaps we might have the advantage, being on English soil, using English magic - the djinni is from a different branch of the magical world entirely. It is likely that he will not have the alliances with the land and sky that we do."

"He could probably forge them quickly enough," said Strange, "if given the chance."

"Could you tell us more about Ali, M'sieur Dantès?" said Segundus. "We do not know much about the race of the djinn, apart from what might be gleaned from _The Arabian Nights_."

"Just because something is fictional does not mean that it is untrue," said Dantès. "You would agree, would you not, that fairy-tales hold a great deal of valuable information?"

"Yes," said all four magicians together, with varying degrees of firmness.

"Then you can rest assure that what you know of the djinn from stories is accurate enough. Ali is powerful, mischievous, and capricious, though he is also dedicated to carrying out his part in our agreement - as he perceives it."

"Does he have a particular affinity for, say, a force of nature? Wind, water, or fire?" said Childermass.

"The djinn are spirits of fire," said Dantès. "I have seen flames behind Ali's eyes when he is upset or excited. He takes great joy in speed, and wind, and is very sympathetic to animals, with whom he can communicate with ease."

"That is a trait shared by fairies," said Strange, coming over with his arms full of books and setting them down beside Norrell. "There have been people accused of being fairies based on their cleverness with animals."

"Yes, like Starhouse and Tubbs," said Norrell.[8]

"All I know is that it certainly makes Ali an excellent coachman," said Dantès.

"What I am wondering," said Segundus, "is if Ali has any weaknesses. Have you observed any thing that makes him uncomfortable? How does he react to churches?"

"I have had the same thoughts, sir," said Dantès, "especially since I realized that freeing myself from his service would be no simple thing. I made a point of keeping him near me when Haydée and I attend church, but alas, he did not exhibit any signs of discomfiture."

Childermass made a frustrated noise as he climbed down from the rolling ladder. "All this is secondary, gentlemen, until we have decided what we shall do. Mr Norrell, you are making heavy weather of looking in your books, but it that necessary? Surely there is only one spell that will be of use here?"

"I know what you are thinking, Childermass," said Strange. "It was the first thing to come to my mind also."

"Of course it is the obvious choice," said Norrell. "I was merely trying to see if there was some other spell or application that I had missed."

"To what are you referring?" said Dantès, with (Segundus thought) admirable calm.

"Stokesey's _Animam Evocare,_ ," said Norrell. "It is a spell to draw out the soul of a person or animal in the form of a small bead of light. If the bead is restored to the person - via the mouth, typically - they return to life. If the pearl is crushed, however - "

"Death," said Segundus, and looked down at his hands, half-expecting to see them covered in blood and feathers.

Dantès looked thoughtful. "What would happen," he said, "if a person had their soul removed, was then - oh - stabbed or shot, for instance - and then had their soul replaced?"

"An interesting question," said Strange (invariably the preface to some extended theorizing). "The removal of the soul-bead does not kill the subject. The first time I used it was on a man and his horse - neither of them fell down or fainted or any such thing. They saw the light leave them, and the horse reared up, but as I did not smash their beads, they lived on. Then, of course, a soldier cut off the man's head, which rendered my involvement moot. I do not know of any magic that can fix that."

"What happened to the horse?" said Childermass.

"I did not observe," said Strange, "as I was somewhat distracted by being in the middle of a battle. But as regards your original question, M'sieur Dantès - I surmise that the wounded subject, having had their soul returned, would be back in their bodies as usual, albeit in need of immediate medical attention."

Dantès nodded. "It might be enough."

"Enough to do what?" said Norrell, turning a page of _Death's Library._

"Enough to send Ali back into his bottle. From what he has told me, it is involuntary, once his contract has been fulfilled - or once he believes it has, since it is plain that my belief has no bearing on the matter."

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," said Norrell, still looking down. "You, Mr Strange, are proposing to remove M'sieur Dantès soul - hoping that the djinni does not see you do it - while at the same time someone inflicts a mortal wound upon M'sieur Dantès body. This is meant to convince the djinni that his bargain with you is now moot, and so force his re-incarceration?"

Dantès and Strange assented. Segundus and Childermass exchanged a doubtful look. "It seems a trifle problematic," began Segundus, but was interrupted by Norrell, who closed his book with a bang and glared at everyone.

"Problematic? It's insane!" he said. "We would need someone to cast the _Animam,_ someone to distract the djinni so that he does not see it being cast, someone to hurt Dantès badly enough to make it look like he is dead without actually killing him, someone to patch him up again after the fact if the djinni actually returns to his bottle - "

"Hardly insane," said Dantès. "The distraction and the mortal threat could be combined. One of you could challenge me to a duel. That would surely draw the eye of any one in the vicinity."

"Yes!" said Strange, growing excited. "And during the course of the duel you would be stabbed, and there would be your soulless, bleeding corpse on the ground - "

"It would take a very precise blow to wound without killing," said Childermass.

"It is possible, though," said Dantès. "My steward once tried to assassinate someone against whom he had a vendetta. As he found out much later, he missed his mark by inches and the man survived - barely.[9] I can shew you where to strike."

"But it must make _sense_!" protested Segundus. "There must be a believable reason for a duel, if we are to stage one. What reason would one of us have to fight M'sieur Dantès?"

"None," came the high, clear voice of a young woman, speaking French. "If any one is to strike him, it shall be me."

Startled, all five men turned toward the doorway. There stood Haydée, regal and serene, flanked by Arabella and Esme.

"We are visited by the Three Graces!" said Strange, with a laugh that did not entirely mask his discomfort at Haydée's statement. "Come in, ladies, do!"

 _They do look like an allegory of something - perhaps Feminine Beauty in its Childhood, Youth, and Maturity,_ thought Segundus, as the two white-clad, dark-haired women and one white-clad, dark haired girl came into the room.

Norrell was not distracted by any such ruminations. "How did they find their way here? I knew I should have turned on the labyrinth. Well - no matter. M'sieur Dantès, this is serious," he said. "While I appreciate your wife's desire to help, I cannot imagine any task less suited to such - er - delicate hands."

Dantès, who had been gazing intently at his young wife, said (in French): "Haydée, I am forced to agree with Mr Norrell. I know that you would give the last drop of blood in your veins and the last breath in your lungs if you thought it would aid me. But you cannot take part this desperate attempt."

Haydée laughed. "No, my lord," she said. "You are mistaken. Did you never wonder how I occupied myself during the years I spent under your protection?"

"I did not need to wonder - I knew," said Dantès, but doubt clouded his voice. "You read, you played musical instruments, you drew, you learned languages - your mind was sharpened and your body strengthened. You told me you were happy, Haydée. Did you not speak truly?"

"I did, my lord," said Haydée. "All you knew of my daily life was accurate - but I did not tell you each and every little thing. There were the knives."

Segundus saw every one in the room register astonishment in some way. Even Childermass, whose protective carapace of world-weary amusement was nearly impenetrable, raised an eyebrow.

"Explain yourself, my dear," said Dantès, with careful calm.

"It is simplicity itself, Edmond. One of my maids was once a performer in a traveling group of entertainers, and often asked her to tell me stories of her life there. She had been a knife-thrower. On days when other pursuits did not please me, she would amuse me and my other attendants by hitting whatever targets we named for her. One day I expressed a wish that I too might learn the craft, and she agreed to teach me.

"I was a willing student, and as I had some measure of natural ability, along with unlimited time to practice, I eventually became almost as skilled as my tutrix," Haydée concluded, with a movement of her shoulders that could have almost been called a shrug, were it not graceful enough to provoke sonnets in susceptible people.

Dantès looked astounded. "And you never thought to mention this to me?"

"It was such a small thing, Edmond - a mere fancy of mine to pass the time and keep my hands from idleness. I thought no more of it than of mastering a new style of embroidery or learning the plot of the latest opera. I did not think it would interest you."

"Every thing about you interests me, Haydée."

Segundus said: "Please pardon me for saying this, M'sieur Dantès, but your wife's brave offer does not alter my earlier objection - we want Ali to believe what he sees, do we not? What reason would Madame have to try to kill you?"

"What are the usual reasons a woman attacks a man she loves?" said Dantès. "It happens frequently enough. Jealousy, spite, anger at being wronged - which do you chuse, Haydée?"

"Jealousy, Edmond."

"Jealousy? Of whom?"

"Of the woman you are doing this to save, my lord. Mercédès."

Dantès had been speaking lightly, but now his dark brows contracted, and he looked stern ( _and maybe a trifle worried_ , thought Segundus). "My dearest girl," he said. "Do you truly had any doubts about the depth and constancy of my love for you?"

"I would be lying if I said that my heart had never experienced a pang of sorrow when I think of you and that poor woman," said Haydée, putting her hands out to take her husband's. "She loved you and lost you, not once, but two times. I am not jealous, Edmond. She has my deepest pity, and I love you all the more for your determination to protect her and her son."

Dantès did not speak, but his large black eyes betrayed a trace of moisture as he raised Haydée's hands to his lips.

"This is all very nice, to be sure," said Norrell, "but you can't seriously suggest that this girl is capable of hurling a knife at you with any accuracy?"

"I can shew you, sir, if you like," said Haydée, producing a wicked little ivory-handled knife from her bosom.

"Not in here - not in here!" said Norrell, with a frightened look around at his beloved books.

"Let us go out into the garden," suggested Arabella. "It is a lovely morning."

Segundus looked out the window and noticed for the first time that it was, indeed, a lovely morning. The mists had lifted and the sun shone, making the trees cast long black shadows on the wet grass.

"An excellent idea, Bell," said Strange.

*

Norrell led the peculiar procession through the quiet abbey and into the brightness of day. Childermass - again bringing up the rear with Segundus - heard Esme whisper to her father: "She is a real princess, isn't she, Papa?"

"Do you know, she is," Strange whispered back.

"She is ever so nice," continued Esme, who walked between her parents with her hands clasped in theirs. "I tried speaking to her in French while we helped her change clothes and she said I am a very clever mademoiselle!"

"You mustn't pester her, Esme, no matter how much you admire her," said Arabella. "She is worn out with worry, the poor thing. I wish I could have persuaded her to lie down for more than five minutes."

"I will not pester," said Esme. "But may I make her a crown of flowers? A princess should have a crown."

"You may," said Strange. "Only make sure you stay well out of the way while this demonstration is going on. I do not know quite what to expect and I don't want you getting punctured."

They were well into the garden now, making their way down aisles of perfectly manicured turf between perfectly manicured hedges. Norrell sat down in a wickerwork armchair beneath a willow (after the ubiquitous Lucas had covered it with a rug to protect his master from the early-morning damp). "Proceed," he said.

"There is a dead pine just over there," said Childermass, pointing. "That would make as good a target as any thing, would it not?"

"I see it," said Dantès. "Will it suffice, Haydée?"

"Yes, Edmond," said Haydée. She still held the small knife in her small hand and was pressing her thumb lightly against its point, testing its sharpness.

"John," said Segundus in an undertone, "am I awake?"

"What do you mean?" said Childermass.

"I mean that, although it is not yet seven o'clock, I have met a count and princess fleeing from an overzealous djinni, I have heard Mr Strange and Mr Norrell charged to kill a man, and now the princess is offering to do the killing - although she loves the man she is volunteering to skewer. My willing suspension of disbelief is being somewhat strained."

"I can pinch you if you like," offered Childermass. "There's a spot I'm particularly fond of - "

"I require no pinching," said Segundus, shifting away, "only your assurance that you see what I see."

"I see Norrell sulking under a willow tree," said Childermass. "I see Strange drawing the rough outline of a human form on the trunk of a dead pine with a stub of chalk, as excited as a child watching Punch-and-Judy. I see Mrs Strange looking on as her daughter picks daisies. I see Edmond Dantès standing in the shadows like a dapper vampire with a Grecian goddess at his side. And I see you, with your cravat tied crookedly and a spot of marmalade on the your left cheek, which I would clean from you with my tongue like a mother cat, were this a dream. But alas, this is reality, and you must stand there, unlicked."

Segundus rubbed the offending spot away, his face flushed. "All right, I accept that I am not dreaming."

"Only in the waking world could I still make you blush so easily," said Childermass, with his sideways smile. "Now attend! The performance begins!"

Haydée had placed herself about twenty feet away from the target. She raised one beautifully rounded arm in a gesture that would have brought tears to the eyes of any artist looking for a model of Artemis. The ivory-handled knife sang through the air, struck the tree with a satisfying _thock_ and stuck there, buried an inch deep in the area of the chalk figure's heart.

"Bravo!" cried Strange, and Dantès smiled. Norrell straightened his smoking cap (which had been dislodged by the start of surprize he had given when the knife left Haydée's hand) and said:

"Yes, that is all very well, Madame - but can you do it more than once?"

"I can but try," said Haydée, with grave modesty. And she did. The little knife went whistling ardently to its goal again and again, until the dead pine was pocked with dozens of narrow slits, all within a finger's breadth of the original strike.

"You are an Amazon, Madame Dantès!" said Esme, when the last shot had been flung. She held up the crown of daisies she had made. "Please accept this poor tribute!"

Haydée, who understood the girl's tone and beaming face even if she did not understand all the words, laughingly bent her head and allowed Esme to arrange the flowers on her dark locks. When she stood upright again, with the blush of exertion on her cheeks, the light of triumph in her eyes, and the crown of white and yellow on her head, she was so lovely that even Childermass felt a pang of gratitude that there was such beauty in the world.

"You have certainly shewn that you can kill a man, Madame," said Norrell. "The question is, however, can you _nearly_ kill him? I presume your preference is for your husband to survive?"

"O ye of little faith, Mr Norrell," said Dantès, wresting the knife from the tree and bringing it back to his wife.

"He is not wrong, Edmond," said Haydée, putting the knife away. "A little too far in a any direction could mean your end."

"Then you must practice until you are confident."

"How? I cannot throw at you until the moment comes, Edmond. I will get but one chance."

"If I may make a suggestion," said Strange, "my wife has a talent for drawing. She might be prevailed upon to make a life-sized sketch of you, M'sieur Dantès, which would provide a more realistic target for Madame."

In hardly any time at all, Lucas and the other staff members of Hurtfew Abbey - well-used to eccentric requests from their master and his associates - had provided Arabella with pencils (from the study) and a makeshift easel made from an old door (from the stables), to which was tacked a six-foot length of brown paper (from the kitchen).

"This day is not getting any less bizarre as it goes on," said Childermass. He and the other magicians had retreated under the willow tree where Norrell had originally settled - the air was becoming hot and stuffy as the sun climbed - as Arabella created her rendition of Dantès with rapid strokes. Dantès stood a little way apart, his superhuman self-possession more evident than ever as he submitted to this impromptu portrait without turning a hair.

"Indeed not," said Strange, fanning himself with his hat. "Bell is being a good sport about this, bless her. Phew! I think it might rain later. My hair is curling."

"She has a good eye for a likeness," said Segundus. "It is a shame that it is destined to be perforated."

"Better it than the original," said Childermass.

"Do you really think all this is necessary?" said Norrell. "All this complicated and melodramatic throwing of daggers? Would not a simple stab do just as well?"

"Remember, sir, we need the drama," said Strange. "It must be enough to distract the djinni."

"About that," said Childermass, watching Esme lead Haydée around the perennial beds, telling her the English names of flowers. "I know we discussed finding a venue with an anti-magic atmosphere - but would that not make the _Animam_ more noticeable by contrast? What we need is a place so full of magic that an extra spell will cause hardly a ripple."

"An excellent thought, sir!" said Strange. "Well, then - what are the most magical places in England?"

They began listing them - haunted woods, the most frequently traveled fairy roads, a section of moor where it snowed in summer, ancient standing-stones.

"But the whole island breathes magic," said Norrell. "We need a place that has far more than the normal background levels. None of the places we have mentioned has that."

"Perhaps we could create one," said Strange. "If we were to cast a great many spells at once - "

Childermass was distracted from the conversation by the stream of friendly chatter issuing from Esmerelda Strange, who had apparently come to the end of her resources about flower names and was telling Haydée about her upcoming academic adventure. _She really shouldn't be talking about it,_ he thought idly. _The Others have such a stick up their arse about secrecy..._ He mulled over the twin problems of Dantès' request and integration with the Others when the ideas suddenly converged. He sat up straight, silently mouthing "Oh!"

"What is it, sir?" said Segundus, attuned (as always) to Childermass's every move.

"I just realized what the most magical place in England is," said Childermass.

"Please feel free to share with the rest of us," said Strange.

"Hogwarts."

There was a pause while the others considered his statement.

"You are saying," said Norrell, "that the most magical place in England is in Scotland?"

"Don't quibble," said Childermass. "Hogwarts is surrounded by spells of concealment and confusion, and full of people teaching magic, doing magic, living with magic - "

" _Other_ magic," said Norrell.

"Yes, obviously, but magic nonetheless! It must be fairly bursting with it from peak to foundation - no where else comes close!"

"True, very true, sir!" said Strange, the light of enthusiasm kindling in his eye.

"And just how do your propose to get us, M'sieur and Madame Dantès, and a djinni into Hogwarts?" said Norrell, with withering scorn. "They do not encourage casual visitors, as you of all people should know."

"I can tell you how I am getting in," said Strange. "Did I not tell you? Arabella and I have been invited to visit! We are to go next week Thursday. Professor Everard said they offer this chance to the parents of all non-wizard students, so they can make an informed decision about whether or not allow their children to attend. Apparently we will tour the school, meet the staff - "

"How nice for you, I'm sure," said Norrell. "That still leaves the bulk of our party unaccounted for," said Norrell. "Not to mention the way that the Others would react if they hear that we want to perform a highly dangerous magical experiment on their grounds." He and Strange began arguing over the feasibility of hiding in the baggage car of the Hogwarts Express. Childermass rolled his eyes and said:

"Gentlemen, there is no point in considering a forced entry. Even if it were possible - which I doubt - it would be a tremendously bad idea. I cannot think of any thing more likely to widen the breach that already exists between us."

"What do you suggest, then? Shall we simply write and ask nicely?" said Norrell.

"Yes."

Norrell did not trouble to hide his opinion about this plan. He huffed and sputtered and scoffed until Strange spoke over him and said: "What makes you think we will be granted permission?"

"I cannot guarantee any thing, sir, but I do believe that if the right person writes to Professor Everard, and places emphasis on the unprecedented opportunity we have here for research into human-djinn magical relations - "

"Say no more, sir!" said Strange. "I will send for paper and ink directly!"

Childermass coughed. "I beg your pardon, sir. I did not mean for _you_ to write."

"Who, then?" said Strange, taken aback. "Mr Norrell?"

"No, sir; he is not, alas, famed for his persuasive epistles," said Childermass, with an amused look at his old master, who tipped his head to one side as if to say he conceded the point. "I thought that it might be better to rely on the rapport between the heads of magical schools."

It took Segundus a moment to realize what Childermass meant. When he did so, he blanched. " _Me?_ Oh dear, no! I would never dream of it! It would be far better for Mr Norrell or Mr Strange to write! Or even yourself, sir - you are the Reader! I am only a schoolmaster!" he protested, unwittingly echoing Norrell's words of the previous day.

"Well put," said Norrell snidely.

"Mr Segundus," said Strange, "Childermass is right. It is your position that makes you ideal. Professor Everard has met you before, and he shares your profession. I deem that he will take more kindly to a letter from you than from any of us." [10]

Childermass said: "And your style of writing is clear and pleasing, my dear sir. If you couch our request in terms of academic inquiry, I think we have a very good chance."

Segundus looked helplessly at each magician in turn - Norrell radiating doubt, Strange lit with excitement, and Childermass full of easy confidence (and a little amusement). "Well," he said at last, "if you think that I am truly the person for this task, I will endeavor to justify your faith in me. Er - does any one know the best way to get a letter to the Professor? Does he reside at Hogwarts over the summer?"

"If you simply write his name on the envelope, any post owl will bring it to him," said Strange. "My family and I will be returning to Diagon Alley in London when we are done here. If you give me the letter, I will see it sent off from the Post Office there."

There was a roll of thunder. Childermass glanced up and saw a mass of cloud - dark grey except for its edges, which were so white they dazzled the eye - sailing slowly and majestically in front of the sun. The air had grown still and oppressive as the day progressed but was suddenly stirred by a cool and rushing wind.

"There's a storm coming," he said.

"I knew it!" said Strange, scrambling to his feet. "I know you like a bit of good English rain, Mr Norrell, but I think we'd better move back to the library."

Lucas and two footmen came hurrying out of the abbey to help collect their master, his guests, and the sketch of Dantès. They made it indoors just as the rain began to fall so hard that everything beyond the river was a grey blur.

Back in the library, Strange filled Dantès in on their idea about Hogwarts. He accepted it with equanimity, but asked what their plans were, should their request for access be refused. "Do you have a secondary location in mind?"

"I do," said Strange, with a glance at Norrell, who was in his place on the sopha again. "Here."

"What, Hurtfew Abbey?" said Norrell.

"Yes, sir - this very room, with this number of books of magic in one place, is surely good for our purpose," said Strange. "I cannot think of any other place where English magic is so concentrated."

"Oh!" said Norrell, plainly torn between horror at the idea of attempting the djinni's downfall in his library and pleasure at Strange paying his library the honor it was due. "Well - I suppose - if we must - as long as the young lady exercises the - er - utmost caution - "

"Rest assured, sir, that the only thing Haydée will damage is myself," said Dantès.

Childermass looked over at the window, where Haydée and Esme stood watching the rain. "After her display this morning, I think your confidence in her aim is fully justified, M'sieur."

Dantès agreed, and then went to assist Arabella, who had the sketch (still attached to its easel) propped up against one of the few areas of the wall that was not lined with books. With the help of Dantès' advice and a textbook on human anatomy (unearthed from a much-neglected non-magical bookcase), she circled the vital areas that Haydée should do her best to avoid.

"I have doubts about this," said Norrell, watching them. "A living, moving man is a much different thing than a flat, stationary image."

"Then we had better get some healing spells ready," said Strange. "The one about joining two articles that have been parted is efficacious."

"But does it work for internal injuries, or merely close the outer wound? I should have thought that Pale's Restoration of Flown Tranquility would be better, if we use the alternative wording that those fellows in Grace Adieu put together."

"It was ladies, not fellows, and I am not at all sure that it will heal any thing worse than a headach."

Childermass left the two restorers of English Magic to their bickering and went over to the writing desk where Segundus was working the first draft of the letter to Professor Everard. "Can I help, John?" Childermass asked. "Do you need any thing?"

"No, thank you, my dear sir," said Segundus. "You have saddled me with this task, and now I can but try to carry it out - which I will do best if left in peace."

"I am sorry. I did not mean to spring it on you all at once like that, but it only occurred to me at that moment, and it seemed so perfect that I could not stay silent. Can you imagine if we had let Norrell write?"

"Yes, I can," said Segundus, who Childermass knew had received more than one unfriendly letter in Norrell's tiny handwriting. "I still think you could have done it just as well."

"Ah, no, I must prowl about and make sure every one is doing what they should," said Childermass.

"Clearly I was attempting to do just that, before you interrupted," said Segundus. "Do you prowl your way back to Mr Strange and Mr Norrell and remind them that we will need a story, if our request is granted - some explanation as to why Dantès would want to go there in the first place."

"I would not have come over here if I'd known you were going to be reasonable and clear-headed," said Childermass. "It's terribly rude of you."

"Go on then!" said Segundus, brandishing his pen with such a threatening look on his usually mild-mannered face that Childermass had to turn away quickly to stifle his laughter.

Upon returning to the other magicians, he found that they had decided that they had better use both healing spells and hope for the best.

"If we do it at Hogwarts, maybe the Others will be willing to assist with that aspect," Strange was saying. "A school of that size is bound to have a nurse or someone of that sort on staff. And it would be fascinating to have a look at their medical methods."

"Do try to keep your focus on the task at hand, sir," said Norrell. "We are going for a specific purpose, not to take notes on Other magic."

Childermass headed off the impending argument by saying: "Let us not get ahead of ourselves, gentlemen. We might not get into Hogwarts at all. But - assuming we do - surely Ali will feel some curiosity about your sudden interest in this magical school. What will you tell him?" He directed his question at Dantès, who had rejoined the men after approving Arabella's final touches on his likeness.

"I think," said Dantès slowly, "that the best thing will be to stay as close to the truth as may be. I will tell Ali that I am beset by debilitating _ennui_ \- that as a last resort I consulted with you gentlemen - that I asked for your aid in finding something - anything - new under the sun. Something amazing enough to rekindle my interest in life."

"And we, bound by our obligation to you, obtained permission to bring you into the heart of the Others' world?" said Strange.

"Yes."

The magicians looked at each other. "Well," said Strange, "it is as likely as any thing else that we have come up with today."

"How goes the letter, Mr Segundus?" said Childermass, seeing that Segundus was blotting his paper.

"I have finished," said Segundus. "Does any one want to read it over before I seal it?"

Childermass went swiftly to join him, read the letter, and said: "That will do nicely."

"Let me see!" said Norrell.

"No, sir," said Childermass, returning the letter to Segundus. "You would want to make alterations, and it needs none."

" 'Professor Everard, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' " muttered Segundus as he wrote out the address. "I have asked him to send his response to Mr Norrell. Do you think that can be done, Mr Strange?"

"Oh, yes. These owls can find any person, in any place - I would dearly like to learn how they manage to train them." Strange came over and took the letter, placing it carefully in an inner pocket of his coat.

"When can we expect a reply?" asked Dantès.

"Within two or three days, I imagine - Hogwarts is not far, as the owl flies," said Strange. "What do you think, M'sieur Dantès? Would you like to stay here and wait for it, or will you continue to the Lakes?"

"We will continue - departing tomorrow morning, if it is convenient for Mr Norrell. You can write me and let me know what the verdict is. A letter addressed to Lord Wilmore at the Post Office in Whitehaven will find me."

"That will do very well," said Norrell, with all the sincerity of a reluctant host with the decampment of his guests in sight.

The rest of the day passed quietly. The thunderstorm was brief and had moved on by eleven o'clock tea, leaving a sparkling, freshly-washed world behind it. After a light luncheon, Jonathan Strange gathered his family about him and took to the Roads. "We have business to conclude in London," said Strange, shaking hands all around before leading his wife and daughter through the large mirror in the library. "We shall meet again soon."

Arabella, speaking French, said: "Take courage, Madame Dantès," and embraced Haydée. "I hope and pray that all will be well."

"Thank you, my dear Mrs Strange," said Haydée. "I will not forget the kindness you and Mam'selle Esme have shewn me today."

"Goodbye, Madame," said Esme, pressing a small purple-and-gilt cardboard box into Haydée's hands.

"What is this?" said Haydee.

"A present. Open it if you are sad - it will cheer you," said the girl earnestly. Childermass smiled to himself at the thought of the Count of Monte Cristo and his princess chasing a chocolate frog about their chambers.

"Come, my dears," said Strange, adjusting the rose in his lapel. "Let us be off!" With Arabella (wearing her red shawl) on one arm and Esme (wrapped in her hooded red cloak) on the other, he said the spell of dissolution and went through.

"Astounding," said Dantès, shaking his head, when the family had receded out of sight down the path on the other side of the glass. "I have heard of such a thing, but I was not sure I believed it till now. Are you leaving that way as well, Mr Childermass and Mr Segundus?"

"We will, but not until later - we will remain here until tomorrow morning as well," said Childermass. He saw Norrell lose the panicked expression he had betrayed at the prospect of being left on his own with Madame and M'sieur Dantès.

"In that case, I think my wife and I will retire for a few hours," said Dantès. "I find that I feel confident enough about our plans to take some much-needed sleep. If you would be so kind as to send a servant to summon us when it is time for dinner, Mr Norrell, we will rejoin you then. Oh - and could you have the target that Mrs Strange was good enough to make sent to our rooms?"

Norrell agreed to do so. He, Childermass, and Segundus watched Dantès and Haydée follow a footman out of the library.

"Well," said Childermass, "there goes a man who can take a nap while his wife throws a knife at his image. I admire his nerve."

"But not his predicament," said Segundus.

The three magicians occupied themselves until dinner by compiling the most dramatic spells they could think of, on the chance that they ended up carrying out their plans at Hurtfew instead of Hogwarts. Norrell lay on the sopha and ordered Childermass and Segundus about with his usual impunity, having them bring him books and look up the spells for him while he wrote them down and found fault with everything.

Childermass was so accustomed to this treatment that he hardly even noticed it on his own account, but he kept a close watch on Segundus, hoping that Segundus's innate graciousness would prevent him from being insulted by being treated like an unsatisfactory secretary. _He doesn't look upset,_ thought Childermass, the twentieth time Norrell said something patronizing and received a bland smile from the headmaster in reply. _He doesn't look as though he's thinking about what is happening in this room at all. His mind is somewhere else completely._

The impression that something was bothering Segundus - which Childermass had first had that morning, while watching the level of marmalade drop slowly but steadily under Segundus's absent-minded spoon - grew on him throughout the rest of their session in the library. It continued during dinner with Dantès and Haydée, where Segundus said no more than ten words. It was confirmed when, after the coffee and port had been cleared away and everyone was going to bed, Segundus made his wish for solitude plain by adding "I am rather tired" when they said goodnight.

"I wish you an untroubled night, my dear sir," said Childermass, grasping Segundus's hand in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "I will see you at breakfast."

"At a more reasonable hour than this morning," said Segundus, with a trace of his usual self.

 _What is troubling him so?_ wondered Childermass, as he made his way to his own room. _Is he worried about Madame and M'sieur Dantès? They seem in good spirits, despite the shakiness of the scheme we have cobbled together._ He sighed, pushing the door closed behind him and kicking off his shoes. _I do not like not knowing what he is thinking._

*

Segundus had lost his abstracted look the next morning. He made up for his silence at dinner by conversing with everyone at the breakfast table exclusively in ancient Greek, aided by a lexicon he had apparently found in Norrell's library. Norrell did not find this amusing, but Childermass joined in the game with enthusiasm, delighted to see his husband in good spirits again. Haydée was nearly in tears of laughter by the end of the meal, and even Dantès smiled once or twice.

M'sieur and Madame Dantès left shortly after breakfast, expressing their gratitude repeatedly. "I look forward to hearing from you in the very near future," said Dantès from the coachman's seat. " _Au revoir!_ " He flicked the whip over the heads of his four magnificent horses and the coach rolled away, Haydée waving from the window.

Childermass and Segundus went back to the library (of course) with Norrell, and helped him process the events of the past two days by listening to his worries and complaints for an hour. Then Childermass rose and said: "Sir, we must leave you now. Thank you for your hospitality. I know this has been an ordeal for you."

Norrell shrugged - a habit he had unconsciously acquired from Childermass - and said, with surprizing good-humor: "Well, well, I suppose it has - but after all, I am not the one whose life is at stake. I am able to stand back and theorize. I shall count my blessings."

"An excellent plan, sir," said Segundus.

"Let us know as soon as you hear from Professor Everard," said Childermass.

"Of course."

Childermass pulled his red cap over his grey hair and went through the mirror, Segundus at his heels.

The walk along the Roads was almost soothing, after the excitement of their time at Hurtfew. They avoided fissures in the path, sudden falls of masonry, and a flash-flood of a red liquid that turned out to be wine with the ease of seasoned travelers in Faerie. Before long they saw the door that would bring them out into the Mirror Room at Starecross Hall.

Childermass was just wondering if he should take advantage of this last bit of privacy and question Segundus about his mood the day before when Segundus put a hand on his elbow and said: "Wait a moment, John."

"Yes?" said Childermass, turning to face him.

"Before we go through - I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday."

"I did not think that being quiet and wanting to sleep in solitude required apologies."

"You are kind to say so, my dear. I offer them nonetheless."

"I accept - on the condition that you tell me what troubled you."

Segundus looked at the ground. "It is so trivial...you are sure to laugh at me."

"Only a very little," said Childermass, brushing his knuckles lightly across Segundus's cheek. "Speak, then - _My ear is open like a greedy shark/To catch the tunings of a voice divine._ "

"Good Lord! Wherever did you find that?"

"Keats, believe it or not."

"Well, no one is perfect," said Segundus, and Childermass rejoiced to see the laughter-lines gathering at the corners of his eyes. "All right, I will tell you. Seeing the Stranges and M'sieur and Madame Dantès, how they look at one another, speak to each other - it has galled me sorely. I do not know why - it is not as though I have never been around happily wedded men and women before. We live in the same building as the Honeyfoots, for goodness' sake! And for all the years we have had together I have, in general, been simply grateful that you are mine. I still am. But I wish...I wish I could take your arm in front of any one I wanted. I wish we could share a room without secrecy. I wish to talk about you without having to pretend you are a friend but nothing more..." His voice petered out and he looked at the ground again, his shoulders hunched in the way he had that made him look like a scholarly heron.

Childermass did not laugh. He took Segundus's face in his hands and kissed him. "John Segundus, my husband," he said. "I have no solution for you. But I hope - someday - we shall be able to do those things."

"Where?" said Segundus, resting his forehead against Childermass's. "Nowhere on earth, surely."

"Faerie, then. When we grow old - all right, old _er_ \- and weary of our work, we shall leave Honeyfoot in charge of Starecross, take sanctuary in Lost-hope, and embarrass the man once known as Stephen Black with our overpowering sentimentality. I will bring you armloads of flowers and call you 'moon of my delight who know'st no wane' in front of everyone."

"A good plan, John," said Segundus, his eyes twinkling. "Consider it settled. Now let us return to our sphere of responsibilities while we wait to learn the fate of our plans for M'sieur Dantès."

*

Five days later, a letter arrived at the Whitehaven Post Office for a Lord Wilmore, to be left until called for. The contents, written in Norrell's tiny handwriting, read: _Meet us at the railway station in Glasgow the day after tomorrow at eleven o'clock in the morning. We have a train to catch._

 

**********

 

 

7 Dantès adhered to "the Arab custom that promises eternal friendship between those who have shared bread and salt under the same roof ( _The Count of Monte Cristo_ , by Alexandre Dumas, Ch. 71)." Conversely, he refused to eat in the home of any one he considered his foe. [return to text]

 

8 Jack Starhouse was a coachman who had the misfortune to be quiet, odd-looking, and good with animals, which led his master Mr Tubbs to believe that he was a fairy. Starhouse eventually became the first man to be declared human under English law. ( _Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell,_ by Susanna Clarke.) [return to text]

 

9 The full story of the steward Bertuccio's quarrel with Villefort is given in _The Count of Monte Cristo_ by Alexandre Dumas, Chapter XLIV.  [return to text]

 

10 Segundus had met Professor Everard in the aftermath of the incident of the Missing Object of Crewe, which led to the first tentative lifting of the veil between the Others and the rest of the world.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Childermass seems to have been hitting the poetry pretty hard, between Keats' Worst Poem Ever and The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyám (which is where the "moon of my delight" line came from).


	3. The Body in the Staff Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes travel to Hogwarts for the final showdown with the djinni.

"This is not respectable," grumbled Norrell. "I cannot believe that the Others would chuse this as the spot for us to meet their emissary."

"I think that the lack of respectability is the main attraction of the place, sir," said Strange. "It is probably one of their lines of defense against prying eyes."

"A most effective defense, then. I wish _my_ eyes had never encountered it."

"It's not so bad," said Childermass, glancing around the interior of the Railway Arms Tavern, where he, Segundus, Norrell, Strange, and Arabella were seated at a table. "I've been in many a worse pub in my time."

"That I can believe," said Norrell.

They had arrived at the tavern at ten o'clock that morning, giving them an hour to find their contact with the Others prior to the departure of the Hogwarts Express. Twenty minutes had passed and neither their contact nor the Dantès had appeared.

Childermass was debating the wisdom of going up to the bar and ordering a pint of something when the door opened, admitting Madame Dantès, radiant as always, followed closely by Dantès and Ali. _They are the perfect embodiment of three totally different types of beauty,_ thought Childermass, as heads turned throughout the pub to watch them pass. When they drew nearer he could see the tension in the faces of Dantès and his wife. _Ha. Only the djinni looks completely at ease._

Haydée made straight for Arabella, who received her with a warm embrace, while Dantès apologized for their tardiness.

"No harm done," said Strange, when they were all seated. "Nothing has happened yet, in any case."

"Do we know what platform we are to use?" inquired Dantès. "Shall I send Ali to the booking office for our tickets?"

"That will not be necessary," said Strange, pulling a large envelope out of his pocket. "I received these in the post earlier this week. Don't lose them," he warned, passing every one their own intricately-printed rectangle of paper. "We will not be allowed to board the train without them."

"What now? Do we wait here until the Others send someone to collect us?" said Dantès.

"Thankfully, no," said Norrell, who was holding his ticket about an inch away from the end of his nose and squinting at it. "Now that we are all here, we are to go outside and find - " he grimaced " - an organ-grinder, who will direct us where we need to go."

"Ah, not yet, Mr Norrell," said Segundus, breaking off the quiet conversation he had been having with Haydée and Arabella. "Is there not one more formality that must be completed? A contract to be signed?"

"What kind of contract?" said Dantès, with (Childermass thought) understandable trepidation.

"It is quite straightforward," said Strange, producing a second envelope and unfolding the paper it contained. "All Muggles - that is what the Others call non-wizards, I apologize for the absurdity of the term - going on this excursion are required to sign it. It gives them our word that we will tell no one of what we see and hear, and gives them the right to remove our memories of the events if we break our promise."

Dantès looked taken aback. "Remove our _memories_? How is that possible?"

"I fear it is not that uncommon," said Segundus. "Even English magicians have been known to employ such methods. Is that not so, Mr Norrell?"

Norrell, clearly unsure if this remark was made innocently or in reference to the spell of confusion he had put on Segundus and Honeyfoot the first time they visited Hurtfew Abbey, said "Hmmm" and left it at that. Childermass caught Segundus's eye and was obliged to have a coughing fit to cover his snort of laughter.

"Do not worry, M'sieur," said Strange. "The contract is very precise and takes pains to say that only the memories of this visit would be removed - nothing else would be affected."

"But if we agree to keep quiet, we may retain our memories?" said Haydée in French.

"Yes, Madame," said Strange.

"Happily, keeping secrets is our speciality," said Dantès. "We will sign."

The paper was passed around the table and signed by all, including Ali, using the pen and ink that Strange had brought along with him. When the last person (Norrell) had put down their name, the ink briefly glowed gold and then the paper folded itself up of its own accord.

"There - the contract has been activated," said Strange, returning the paper to its envelope and the envelope to his pocket. "Now, are we all ready?"

"But where is Mam'selle Esme?" said Haydèe, again in French. "Is she not here?"

"Oh, no, I am sorry, Madame," said Strange in the same language. "Esme is not here. She is staying with Arabella's brother and his family. This expedition is for parents and guardians only - with a few exceptions, obviously," he added, with a quick smile. "Apparently they set great store on all the students having their first visit to the school be at the beginning of term - a kind of rite of passage."

"Let us be going, then," said Norrell.

They filed out of the Railway Arms, with Norrell and Dantès in the lead, followed by Strange and Arabella, Segundus and Haydée, Ali, and Childermass bringing up the rear. He noted that Dantès seemed pleased to leave the escorting of his wife to someone else, and that she was eager to remove herself from her husband's immediate vicinity. _Is it nerves, or are they playing up this coolness between them for the djinni's benefit?_ he wondered, his eyes on the tall, upright figure in front of him.

They had barely had time to stand on the pavement outside the pub and look about them before the piping, droning music of a barrel-organ wound its way out of the archway to their left. Strange led them toward the noise, which grew louder as they came under the shadow of the arched passageway through which horses and carriages entered the station. Childermass, leaning a bit to the left to see past the rest of the group, saw an old man dressed in brightly-colored, much-patched clothes turning the crank of his one-legged machine. A monkey (attired smartly in a tiny velvet coat and hat) was capering about on the cobblestones in front of him.

"Er - excuse me, sir," said Strange, approaching the man. "We are looking for the correct platform for the Hogwarts Express."

"Got your tickets, then?" was the immediate response.

"Yes, sir."

"Signed your contract?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hand it over, then."

Strange held out the envelope - not to the man (whose lips, Childermass belatedly realized, had not moved throughout this entire exchange) but to the monkey, who said "Ta!" and took it. The envelope shrank the moment it touched his dark paw so that he could fit it easily into a little leather satchel that was slung across his chest. "Go right on through there," added the monkey, jerking a miniature thumb over its shoulder.

"What, through the wall?" said Strange.

"That's right, Muggle, and you'd better hop to it, there's going to be an almighty queue."

Every one exchanged glances. Then Strange nodded, squared his shoulders, tucked Arabella's hand more firmly into the crook of his elbow, and marched straight at the stretch of unrelentingly solid-looking stone indicated by the monkey. There was a collective gasp as the Stranges vanished straight through it.

"Go on, then!" encouraged the monkey, leaping to the top of the indifferent organ-grinder's head and jumping up and down. "That's enough gawking! Straight through, and mind you keep on walking once you're on the other side or you'll clog up the entrance!"

When Childermass's turn came he could not help closing his eyes and holding his breath as he stepped into the wall. Despite his long experience with magic, his nerves and muscles were braced for an immediate collision with the rough stone. Another step, and another - the suspense was too much. He opened his eyes.

He was walking along a platform that, according to the mental picture he had formed of the terminus's layout, had no business existing. Men and women stood clumped together in small groups, half-hidden by the steam that billowed and hissed out from the huge, shining locomotive engine that dominated the scene.

"Oh my!" exclaimed Segundus, who had gone through immediately ahead of him with Haydée and Ali. "Extraordinary!"

"Extraordinary," echoed Dantès, his eyes on the locomotive. "Impossible! Such a machine does not exist!"

"No doubt you are right, M'sieur," said Childermass, "but can we discuss it later? We should join the rest of our group." He and Dantès had taken several steps before he realized that Segundus was not with them. Turning, he saw that Segundus (still with Haydée on his arm, looking astonished but by no means alarmed) was trying to walk without taking his eyes from the locomotive, with the result that he was moving sideways at a speed comparable to that of a tortoise with no pressing appointments. "Come along, sir!" called Childermass. "You are lagging!"

"Quite right, quite right - I beg your pardon," said Segundus, smiling in apology to Haydée, who smiled back.

A gust of wind whirled across the platform, clearing away some of the steam and giving Childermass a better look at their fellow visitors to the world of the Others. Some were shewing signs of having recognized Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell and were staring.

Before any one could approach them, a man resplendent in a red uniform with gold frogging descended from the engine, planted himself by the first passenger car, and announced: "Laaaaadies and gee-entlemen, welcome to the Hogwarts Express! Please form a line _in_ the single file and present your tickets before boarding."

Childermass counted heads as the crowd shuffled obediently into line. _About forty all told - and from every level of society._

While they waited to have their tickets examined, they had plenty of time to listen to the uniformed man's rapid-fire patter. " _Thank_ you kindly!" he would say to every person in turn, taking the proffered ticket. "You may go aboard. Watch your step and proceed to the back of the train - no more than six to a compartment, please - leave your luggage here and it will be collected - don't forget your complimentary schedule of events - " here he would thrust a velvet-covered, gold-tasseled program into the hands of whoever stood before him " - and there will be a food trolley coming through around one o'clock. Next!"

"Six to a compartment, he said? We are eight altogether," said Norrell. "That will be a bit snug. We shall have to split up."

"Not a bad thing," said Strange. "That will leave those of us not in the same compartment as - " he nodded towards Ali, who was about ten people ahead of him, standing with Segundus and Haydée - "able to converse freely."

"Agreed," said Dantès, his voice low. "And it will be in keeping with the antagonism that Haydée and I have been feigning towards each other since we rejoined Ali. As far as he nows, our holiday to the Lakes did nothing but heighten the strain between us. All brought on by her jealousy of Mercédès, of course. We have kept up a facade of coldness and distance, punctuated by outbursts of anger from her - not an easy part for either of us to perform, but necessary."

"Well thought of," said Strange approvingly. "So if we arranged ourselves in this way - Madame Dantès, Ali, Arabella, and myself in one compartment, and Mr Norrell, you, Mr Segundus, and Childermass in the other - "

Childermass suppressed a grin. Strange had never gotten the hang of calling him any thing other than simply "Childermass," no doubt thanks to spending so much time with Norrell.

" - that should do nicely."

That had been the arrangement when they first boarded the Hogwarts Express. Some hours had passed since then, and things had been moved about slightly. Strange had wanted to go over a few details of The Plan (as he called it) with Norrell and Dantès, so around noon he had changed places with Childermass.

"You're sure you don't mind?" Strange had said, as they edged past each other in the swaying corridor.

"Not at all. How is - _he_?"

"He has been a model of good behavior thus far - does nothing but sit quietly, when he is not waiting on Madame Dantès. It would be easier to discover if Other magic is having any effect on him if he ever spoke to any one but Dantès, but he does not."

"All right then. If I need to contact you I will rap on the wall."

"Capital!" Strange had clapped him on the shoulder and they separated. Since then Childermass had been in his seat by the window, exploiting his talent for being easy to ignore while the ladies conversed in French and the djinni sat in the corner diagonally across from him.

"It is too bad that Esme could not come," Haydée was saying. "I would have liked to see her again. Such a charming girl!"

"She is sorry to have missed seeing you again," said Arabella. "She wanted me to be sure to pass along her greetings and best wishes to you. Oh - and she asked if you liked the Chocolate Frog."

Haydée brightened. "Oh, yes! I had never seen such a thing before! And once I caught it, it was delicious."

Not finding this topic particularly interesting, Childermass let his attention wander. He looked out the window at the Scottish Highlands, rushing past at close to fifty miles per hour. The locomotive responsible for this astonishing rate of speed came into view in all its black-and-scarlet glory as they went around the curve of a viaduct. _It's impossible,_ he thought for the hundredth time, staring out at the green hills with unseeing eyes. _There is no way this could be the same engine they took from Crewe. Nothing like it exists today, let alone thirteen years ago. And who laid the tracks across all this wild terrain?_

He knew that speculation was pointless - the only way that the mystery could be solved was if the notoriously tight-lipped Others revealed the truth themselves - but the discrepancy between the Others' usual lack of mechanical prowess and their possession of such a mind-boggling machine as this irked him deeply.

_Enough,_ he thought, after arguing himself in circles. _With any luck I'll be able to find out more about it at the school. I should do what I'm meant to be doing._ He shifted into a more comfortable position, stretched out his legs, crossed his feet at the ankles, pulled his hat low over his eyes, and in general presented the image of a man composing himself for a nap - barring the fact that he did not close his eyes completely and never looked away from the silent, man-shaped person in the opposite corner.

*

In the carriage next door, the other members of the party were discussing the mystery of the train as well.

"I do not understand it at all," said Dantès, leaning forward to get a better view of the swiftly-rushing scenery. "This is beyond any thing that I have ever seen, and I am involved in railways a great deal. Germany's _Saxonia_ is only a fraction of the size of the engine pulling us now. Where did they get this technology?"

"It is most peculiar, to be sure," agreed Strange. "I do not mind admitting that I cannot understand it either."

They bandied ideas back and forth, each one more outlandish than the last, and had gotten as far as speculating about time travel (which Norrell scoffed at, but which Segundus maintained was a legitimate theory) when there was a knock at the compartment door. Strange, being closest, slid the door open, revealing a kindly-looking old woman leaning on a small cart laden with things to eat. "Something from the trolley, gentlemen?"

Segundus, Dantès, and Norrell declined, but Strange (evidently excited by the chance to spend some of the Other currency he had acquired in London) bought some of every thing, including several bottles of an orange liquid labeled "Pumpkin Juice."

"Help yourselves!" he said, letting half of his purchases tumble out of his arms and onto the empty stretch of seat between Norrell and Segundus. "I'm just going to take the rest of this next door, in case they are hungry."

"My thanks," said Dantès.

"How is your wife, M'sieur?" asked Segundus as Strange departed, closing the door behind him with his foot. "I thought she did not seem quite herself this morning."

"She is feeling the pressure," said Dantès. "Much depends on her today. Having to maintain an attitude of hostility towards me is difficult for her - and for myself, despite my skill at dissembling. I have lost my taste for it." He looked rueful.

Segundus was so filled with pity that he reached across and patted the Frenchman's shoulder, a reflexive gesture of comfort that he would never have dared exhibit had he given it any thought. Before he could apologize, however, he was distracted by what he felt beneath his fingers as he drew them back. "Goodness! Whatever have you got on under your shirt, M'sieur?" he exclaimed. "It feels like - I do not know what!"

Dantés laughed and tapped his own chest, which made a strange, wooden sound. "Ah, you have found me out, sir! I had meant to keep this a secret, to make sure every one's reactions were properly horrified - but perhaps it is just as well. I fashioned myself a protective breastplate from one of the cork flotation devices on my sloop."

"But what about the blood?" asked Norrell, while Segundus gave Dantès chest an experimental prod, begged his pardon, and retired in some confusion. "Isn't there meant to be blood, to convince the djinni?"

"Never fear. The knife will still pierce my skin," said Dantès. "This vest is only to prevent fatal damage - or at least, that is my hope."

"Have you told Madame Dantès? I am sure she would feel much easier in her mind if she knew there was more than a few layers of cloth between you and her knife," said Segundus.

"She knows. But she cannot help worrying."

"Speaking of worrying - are you sure it is wise, leaving the ladies with Ali?" asked Norrell. "I know that Childermass is there, but it still seems risky."

"They are perfectly safe," said Dantès. "Ali has always been a devoted servant to Haydée. Of course, if you are troubled on their behalf, you could join them yourself."

"No, no..." said Norrell, looking away.

At this point Strange returned to their compartment. Norrell immediately pounced on him with questions about whether Ali was shewing any effects from being around Other magic.

"It is difficult to say," said Strange, after he had settled back into his seat and made some unflattering observations about the Others' preoccupation with pumpkin-based food and drink. "He is sitting in a corner, doing nothing except wait for Madame Dantès to give him an order. The only time I saw him alter this behavior was when the old lady with the food cart went by on her way back to the front of the train. He stared at her with great attention until she was out of sight."

Segundus halfheartedly unwrapped a sweet (whose crinkling paper declared it to be a Pepper Imp). The novelty of riding on the train had begun to pall and he was increasingly concerned about The Plan. The closer they got to Hogwarts, the feebler their scheme appeared to him. "What comes first when we arrive, Mr Strange?" he said. "I believe you have the schedule of events?"

"That's right," said Strange, holding up the tasseled program that he conductor had given him. "Let me see - we are supposed to arrive at the village outside the school at four o'clock. From there we will be escorted to the castle, where we will have tea with the headmaster and staff in the Great Hall. After this there will be a tour, followed by a question-and-answer period, and then dinner. Then we will all be free to mingle with each other and the teachers until it is time for bed. Tomorrow morning - " he turned a page " - breakfast will be served at eight o'clock, and then we shall board the train at half-past nine for the return journey to Glasgow."

Strange put the program down and looked around the compartment, his face serious. "Our best chance will be to stage the quarrel between M'sieur and Madame Dantès during the tour. The moment Madame throws the knife, Mr Norrell will perform the _Animam Evocare_. We hope that Ali will be so distracted that he will not notice the spell being cast, and I will be able to send him back into his bottle with a spell of banishment and containment - "

"What bottle?" interrupted Norrell. "Where is it?"

"I have it," said Dantès.

"You should give it to Mr Strange now, so that he may be prepared."

Wordlessly, Dantès took a small phial from his breast pocket and passed it to Strange. Segundus saw Strange's eyes widen when he touched the smooth swirl of blue-and-white glass. "Fascinating," he said, holding up to the light. "Can you see the faint distortion in the air around it? This is a powerful magical object."

Segundus was itching to have a closer look, but contented himself with asking: "And that is the bottle in which you originally found Ali, M'sieur?"

"Yes, amongst the other treasures of Monte Cristo," said Dantès.

"Have you ever asked him what it is like, being in the bottle?"

Dantès nodded. "Ali says it is an extremely restful experience - something like hibernation, only for an indeterminate amount of time. His reluctance to return is due to his perception of his task as incomplete, not because being in the bottle is painful. I do not think I could do this if I thought it would hurt him. He has been a good friend to me, according to his own lights. I am fond of him." Dantès stared at the compartment floor.

Strange cleared his throat as he tucked the phial into his own coat pocket. "Anyway - as I was saying, I plan to seal the djinni inside this bottle, leaving us free to return M'sieur Dantès soul to his body."

"Which you will then repair?" said Dantès, looking up again.

"Assuredly."

"Oh, have you settled on what spells to use?" said Segundus, recalling a certain lack of agreement on this subject when Strange and Norrell discussed it at Hurtfew.

"Er - in all honesty - in Professor Everard's latest correspondence with me," began Strange, with a guilty look at Norrell, who narrowed his eyes but said nothing, "he has offered us the services of the school's hospital wing, which is accustomed to dealing with all manner of injuries, both magical and otherwise."

"And have you accepted?" said Segundus, partly from a genuine desire to know and partly from a genuine desire to irritate Norrell.

"I have. It seems prudent."

"It seems unnecessary," said Norrell.

"Oh, so you feel confident enough in our healing abilities to bet this man's life on them?" said Strange, waving a hand at Dantès, who had the sense to keep quiet.

"I do!"

"Well, I do not. And I do not see what is so terrible about admitting as much! I know we have made great strides in making magic practical and useful in day-to-day life, I have no objection to having a bit of extra help in this instance."

"Fine, fine. But it is vexing, sir, most vexing!"

"Think of it as a chance to learn from the Others' technique," said Strange encouragingly. "Perhaps you will be able to look at their library!"

Segundus stifled a laugh at the way Norrell's small blue eyes sparkled at the word of _library_. Strange continued: "The school was founded almost a thousand years ago, or so they say - can you imagine the amount of ancient texts that must reside within it?"

Norrell was positively squirming in his seat now. "They will surely include the library in the tour, do you not agree? It would be most remiss of them not to give the parents a look at the heart of the institution..."

"I do wish the circumstances of this visit were different," said Segundus. "I have so many questions! I cannot imagine running a magical school for hundreds of students! The two dozen at Starecross are quite enough for me!"

"Indeed," said Norrell, contriving to sound patronizing and understanding at the same time. Then he sighed and drew the back of one hand across his forehead. "Well, with any luck, this is only the first of many visits. Today we must focus on the task we have undertaken."

"Today," repeated Dantès, sounding almost wistful. "If I could only know how it would end..."

Strange, Norrell, and Segundus avoided one another's eyes. They had talked about this very thing with Childermass that morning as they travelled to Glasgow, but he had flatly refused to consult his cards. "Some things are best left unknown," he had said. "If the cards tell us we fail, how can we put our full effort into it? And if they tell us we succeed, we will let down our guard when we should not."

Dantès seemed to know what they were thinking. He chuckled. "I was not hinting that you should try to discover the future by magic," he said. "We will know soon enough, one way or another."

Segundus looked out the window at the wild and windswept hills, where the stony bones of the earth were softened by the green of summer. _One way or another._ He put a Pepper Imp in his mouth.

*

The train pulled into the station at four o'clock precisely. The passengers disembarked and milled about on the platform, talking amongst themselves. An elegantly-attired couple walked by Childermass, listening to a red-faced man who looked like an ostler say: "...never had the faintest idea until I found him walking on the duck pond - _on_ it, mind! Right on top of the water!"

The ostler's tale was interrupted when an authoritative-looking woman wearing green robes and a tall, pointed black hat strode out of the ticket office. She waved a hand to get every one's attention and, in a resounding voice, said:

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Hogsmeade. I am Professor Armata. If you will follow me, I will take you to the carriages."

Childermass let himself be drawn along with the flow of people. He could see Dantès and Norrell near the front of the crowd, and, turning to see behind him, spotted Arabella, Strange, Haydée, and Ali about twenty feet back. He was just wondering where Segundus had gotten to when the man himself appeared at his elbow.

"Here we are at last, Mr Childermass!" he said, holding his hat on with one hand as he struggled to maintain his place in the jostling mass of bodies. "How was your journey? Did - _he_ \- do any thing?"

"No. Sat quiet as quiet the whole ride. The only thing that caught his attention was the old woman with the food trolley, but nothing came of that. What of yourself, sharing a compartment with the brains behind this operation? Any thing I should know about?"

"Well, those Pepper Imps are not only minty and delicious, but they also cause one to smoke from the ears and nose most alarmingly."

Childermass chuckled. "At the forefront of wizard-magician research as usual, I see! I was asking about the status of The Plan, however."

"As far as that goes, it has been decided that the attempt will be made during the tour of the castle. It remains up to Dantès to chuse the moment."

They descended the platform steps and emerged onto a well-kept road that passed the station and continued through the village that surrounded it. Childermass's first impression was of a pleasant rural hamlet, all golden thatch, half-timbered walls, bright bits of garden, and people going about their daily lives. A second, longer look revealed oddities every where. The people wore robes of various colors, giving them the appearance of priests involved in arcane rituals even when they were engaged in nothing more occult than buying turnips. There was an extraordinary number of owls fluttering to and fro in broad daylight, concentrated around a building whose sign read Post Office. The paintings on the signs themselves moved of their own accord, so that the image of a rampant dragon hanging over the door of The Dragon's Rest was couchant a moment later. Even the plants in the gardens were unusual - he could swear that the one nearest him was flapping its leaves open and shut like butterflies' wings, regardless of what the wind was actually doing.

So absorbed was he in these wonders that he would have walked straight into a carriage, had Segundus not caught him by the arm. "Watch what you're about, Mr Childermass!"

"Your pardon," said Childermass. "I wonder if we will have time to explore before we leave tomorrow? I would like a closer look at those shops. What do you suppose they sell in a wizards' apothecary?"

"I am more interested in the sweet shop," said Segundus. "It says 'Honeydukes' - do you think it is the place that produces the Chocolate Frogs? I - " His voice faltered. "John. If you can tear yourself away from the village for a moment - take a look at our conveyance."

Reluctantly, Childermass turned his attention to the row of carriages that waited for them on the road. There were ten of them, open-topped and glossy black, with the Hogwarts school crest painted on the doors. Each was hitched to a single horse. The horses were a marvelous sight - muscular but slender, with large, intelligent eyes, grey coats, and long, dark manes and tails. But all these attributes paled beside their most striking characteristic - each horse had a pair of immense, snowy-feathered wings folded neatly against their sides. The crowd of parents stood huddled together, some looking delighted, some stunned, others terrified.

Professor Armata, bustling along to the head of the row, said: "As I'm sure you've all noticed, the carriages are pulled by winged horses - members of Hogwarts' own flock of Granians. Do not be afraid, get in - no more than four to a carriage, please, and remain seated at all times."

Childermass climbed in behind Segundus, feeling giddy. Strange and Norrell joined them, while Dantès, Arabella, Haydée, and Ali got into the carriage ahead of them.

"I can hardly believe my eyes!" said Segundus. "Real, living pegasus! Pegasuses - pegasi? Which is the correct form of the plural?"

"I do not know. I have never had occasion to use the term before," said Norrell.

"Do you think we are going to fly to the school?" said Strange, leaning out and looking down at the wheels resting on the hard-packed road. "They would have had to enchant the carriages, too, but that hardly seems - "

Before he had time to finish speculating, Professor Armata, from her seat in the first carriage, called "To Hogwarts!" in ringing tones. The horses crouched on their haunches, extended their wings to their full, awe-inspiring span, and leapt skywards.

His heart bounding in his chest, Childermass clutched at the seat, expecting to feel a sharp lurch and tug. By the time he realized it was not going to happen they were thirty feet off the ground and rising fast. They leveled off at about a hundred feet and continued in a graceful aerial caravan, following the road that wound along beneath them. Norrell was clinging to Strange's arm and peering over the edge, exclaiming something that the whistling of the wind made inaudible. Childermass would have liked very much to take Segundus's arm, but settled for tightening his grip on the carriage itself.

Professor Armata, her voice perfectly clear despite the distance between them and the wind's rush ( _Must be magically enhanced somehow,_ thought Childermass), said: "Hogsmeade is the only village in Britain populated entirely by wizards. Starting in their third year, the students have the opportunity to visit it several times a term. Ahead of us you can see the lake, beyond which stands Hogwarts itself - " She continued in this vein for the rest of the flight, which was not a long one and would have been still shorter had they not circled the castle a few times to get a better look at the grounds. Childermass lost the thread of her commentary when their carriage passed over the castle gates - he felt as though a thin cloth soaked in icy water had been dropt over him, obscuring his vision and making him struggle to draw breath. Then the feeling left, as quickly as it had come.

"What was _that?_ " said Segundus, shivering beside him. "Did you feel it?"

"Difficult not too," said Strange, shaking his head like a wet dog. "That must have been the protective spells that they have around this place."

"I wonder," said Norrell, "if we should be concerned about what effect this level of magic will have on us as well as on the djinni? I am feeling distinctly disoriented."

"Could be the Other magic, yes, sir," agreed Childermass. "Or it could be that we are thirty yards up in the air and swooping about like overgrown pigeons."

Strange laughed and whooped as the horse that pulled them began circling lower in wide spirals. "Not for long! Down we go!"

When all ten carriages had come to rest on the broad, emerald-green lawn in front of the main entrance, the passengers took a few moments to settle their windblown hair and garments before climbing out (a little shakily in most cases). Dantès was exhilarated.

"That was incredible!" he cried, his pale face flushed with excitement for the first time since Childermass had met him. "What speed, what freedom! I never dreamed there were such creatures in the world! Did you know of them, Ali?"

The djinni, who was helping Haydée and Arabella down from their carriage, gave Dantès what Childermass thought of as a Look. Then he reached out a hand to the nearest horse, which bent its glorious head and nosed at his palm in a friendly way. Dantès made as if to stroke the horse's neck, but was forestalled by Professor Armata, who said "Kindly do not touch, sir," as she passed by.

Dantès subsided, but looked rebellious.

"There's a man who is used to getting his own way," murmured Childermass to Segundus.

"Clearly," agreed Segundus, attempting to straighten the brim of his hat (it had been somewhat crumpled by his convulsive grip during the flight). "But oh, John! Look at this place! I had no idea it would be so enormous, or so beautiful! I think I could spend the rest of my life here, and I have not even seen the interior yet!"

"Not for long," said Childermass.

Professor Armata herded them up the stone steps and through the massive oaken doors, saying: "The Headmaster is waiting for you in the Great Hall, along with the rest of the staff. We will have tea and then begin the tour."

The entrance hall was huge and echoing. Childermass barely had time to notice the marble staircase, suits of armor, and tapestried walls before they were passing through another set of double doors into the Great Hall.

Every one made some sort of noise of surprize or appreciation at the sight of the magnificent room, cathedral-like in its size and architecture, right down to the flying buttresses - with the notable difference that there was no ceiling. None at all. The room opened right up to the summer sky. Childermass could see clouds drifting across it, and the tiny specks of far-away birds.

"The ceiling has been enchanted to look like the sky outside," explained Professor Armata, as they all tried to walk while looking upward. "This way, please..."

Childermass saw a table set up in the middle of the room. It was more than large enough to accommodate all the guests as well as the dozen or so staff members who stood waiting for them, but the scale of the Great Hall made it look tiny. This effect was lessened as they drew nearer and were able to appreciate the sight of the lavish tea laid out in readiness for their arrival.

"Here they are, sir," said Professor Armata, curtseying to Professor Everard, who stood at the head of the table. "All present and accounted for."

"Excellent!" said Professor Everard, beaming around at them all. "No one fell out, eh? They _will_ insist on leaving the tops off the carriages in fine weather - the view is unparalleled, but it does make one feel a trifle insecure, I find." He proceeded to move through the group, greeting each person by name. He reached Norrell and his contingent last. "This is a signal honor, sir, and one long overdue," he said, shaking Norrell's hand. "It is no easy thing to combine two worlds long sundered, is it? But I think it is well worth the effort."

"The honor is all on our side, Professor," said Norrell, with more courtesy than Childermass had thought him capable. "We thank you for allowing us to come along with Mr and Mrs Strange."

"The opportunity was too good to miss," said Everard, moving on to Strange and Arabella, with whom he spent some minutes in school-related talk. "And here are our foreign visitors!" he said, bowing to Dantès and Haydée. "What do you think of this old place so far?"

"Beyond any thing I ever imagined or dreamed," said Dantès, bowing back. "We cannot tell you how thankful we are for this opportunity."

Everard smiled and continued on to where Childermass and Segundus stood. "And here we have Mr Childermass, the Reader of the Kings Book, and Mr Segundus, my fellow headmaster and correspondent! I have long pondered how to heal the relationship between our societies, and this is as good a chance as any to get started. I must confess that I was at first reluctant to allow you to bring - " his eyes flickered to where Ali stood behind the Dantès " - such a large group, but you had an ally in our Divination professor. He vouched for you all, knowing you as well as he does, and insisted that the time was right. I suppose there is not much point in employing a professor of Divination if you are unwilling to take his advice!" He laughed heartily, but Childermass exchanged a perplexed look with Segundus.

"Forgive me, sir," said Segundus, "but did you say that your Divination professor knows us? I do not see how that is possible - we have never met any one on your staff except you, years ago."

Everard's eyebrows lifted. "Really? Are you sure? He went on and on about you and Mr Childermass - claimed to have known you for decades! Oh - here he is now. His foresight, alas, has no effect on his punctuality." He pointed to the other end of the room, where a man with long, pure white hair that contrasted dramatically with his red robes was strolling into the the Great Hall as if he owned the place. "You gentlemen can sort it out between yourselves, I dare say. Professor Vinculus! Over here!"

Childermass watched the white-haired man approach, his thoughts moving so slowly that they felt as though they were moving through mud and molasses. _Did he say Vinculus? Surely not._ He saw Segundus blink rapidly, as though trying to make sure that his eyes were working.

_John sees him too - but it can't be - he's too clean - but it's been nearly ten years since I last saw him - he may have learned to value personal hygiene - stranger things have happened - not many, though._ Childermass's mind had shaken itself free from its stupor and was leaping from one inconsequential thought to another. It was certainly Vinculus. His outer trappings had changed, but there was no mistaking that hawklike nose, or the wicked twinkle in his eyes. Any lingering doubt was removed when the man planted himself in front of them, bowed mockingly, and said in the well-known voice of old: "Well met, magicians! You have run me to earth at last! I'm pleased to see you can still abide one another's company."

"Vinculus!" said Childermass hoarsely. "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't you hear the headmaster? I teach Divination to wizard bantlings now!"

"But - you can't even read the cards!"

"Pshaw. Just because I never flaunted my abilities in front of you, sir, doesn't mean I don't have them...come now, they're all sitting down. Let's carry this on over a drink."

"I see your priorities haven't changed," said Childermass, as they seated themselves at the long table. Strange, Norrell, and the rest of their party, who were either unaware of or uninterested in the reunion taking place, were at the far end with Professor Everard.

"D--n right," said Vinculus, pouring himself a glass of something from a crystal decanter and passing it to Childermass. "Try this, lad!"

Childermass sniffed at the decanter warily. The fumes of alcohol made the inside of his nostrils crinkle. "Good Lord! Whatever is it?"

"Firewhiskey," said Vinculus with relish. "If there was no other reason for me to stay on here, this would be more than enough."

_I am probably going to regret this,_ thought Childermass, splashing a modest amount of the amber liquid into his glass. "And you, sir?" he said to Segundus, who (somewhat surprizingly) sighed and pushed a cup towards him.

"Go on, then. I could use it."

Vinculus raised his glass in salute. "To old friends!"

When they had all taken a drink and followed it up with a brisk coughing fit, Childermass wiped the tears from his eyes and pulled himself together enough to say: "All right, Vinculus. Tell us the truth - how long have you worked here?"

"Oh, a good many years, off and on. You never did discover how I dodged you for so long when Norrell was first living in London, did you? Well, now I can tell you - I was here."

Childermass hoped that his face did not shew how much this long-ago failure of his still rankled. "Hm. How came you to be allowed in? I could not get past the protective spells even after I knew they were there."

"I'm not completely sure." Vinculus swallowed another mouthful of firewhiskey. "The only think I can think of is that auld John himself twitched aside the enchantments and let me pass. Seems like the sort of thing he'd find amusing...anyway. I was wandering about Scotland, making myself scarce, and on a dark and stormy night I found myself on the castle doorstep. I was in bad shape - there's not overmuch to eat around here - and they must have felt sorry for me, for they brought me in, cleaned me up, fed me, and gave me a place to sleep. They didn't know what to think the next morning when it came out that I wasn't a wizard!" He cackled.

"And you never breathed so much as a word about this, in all the time we've spent together?"

"The time wasn't right! Ah, no, you needn't roll your eyes - I may not be the most skilled at reading the cards, but I know when things should happen. And when they should not."

Childermass rubbed his beard. "Fine, I'll grant you that. Now tell us how you went from being a charity case to a professor."

"A true Seer cannot be hidden," intoned Vinculus, wagging a gnarled finger. "They saw my worth and - oh, all right, they were short-staffed and I was able to sweet-talk my way into a position once I shewed them that I was the King's Book. Divination is mostly gas and waffle in any case, and that's my stock in trade - "

"You told them about the Book?" said Childermass indignantly.

"Aye, what harm? The reproduction can be had at any bookseller's for a guinea! Some of these folk are interested in the idea that their world and ours are destined to combine - though they're in no hurry. Secrecy is a hard habit to shake."

"I notice you still say 'their world' and 'our world'," said Segundus. "You do not consider yourself a - a wizard?"

"Not a wizard, no - I've no knack for their kind of magic, no wand, nothing like that. 'Course I'm not a magician either. I'm me! A Book on legs, with a way of knowing things."

"Such as our purpose in coming here?" said Childermass.

"Nothing mystical about that. Everard shewed me Mr Segundus's letter. Quite a pretty problem you've got. I take it that the dark-haired chap over there is Dantès?"

"Yes," said Childermass, with a quick look at the Frenchman, who was talking to one of the teachers. "The young woman in white is his wife, and their servant is - "

"The djinni." Vinculus observed the Nubian, who stood behind his master and mistress's chairs like a handsome statue. "Has he been affected by the atmosphere of this place?"

"No idea - but I certainly have. The air is thick with magic - but it's calmer than the King's Roads, if you know what I mean. Like water you could swim in without fear of sharks."

"You get used to it," said Vinculus, and drained his glass. "Now run your plan by me again. I'm not sure if I believe what I read."

"I'll let Segundus fill you in, since he was the one sitting with Strange and Norrell on the way here. Isn't that right, my dear sir?"

"Mmmhm," said Segundus, swallowing a mouthful of buttered scone. "I beg your pardon. Yes, of course. Here is what we are thinking..."

Vinculus listened attentively until Segundus finished speaking. Then he said: "It's not the worst plan I've ever hear. It might even work."

"Glad you approve," said Childermass.

When every one had filled themselves to capacity, the headmaster stood up and tapped his spoon against his wine glass. "If I could have your attention, please! It is now time for the tour. We will divide into seven groups, each led by two staff members. Let me see - Mr and Mrs Wiggins, Mr and Mrs Talbot, Mr Hershey, and Mrs Pine will go with Professors Armata and O'Connell. Mr and Mrs Strange, Mr Norrell, Madame and M'sieur Dantès and their attendant, Mr Childermass, and Mr Segundus will go with Professor Vinculus and myself - "

"That simplifies matters," said Childermass to Segundus. "We won't have to worry about getting rid of a pack of extra folk once the Plan is put into action."

"Yes, I wonder if this is for our benefit?"

Vinculus shook his head. "No, this is how things are done on these little visits. It's wise to have smaller groups so we can make sure nothing too - ah - exciting happens while we're wandering about the place."

Soon their party was gathered beside Professor Everard, who said, "Right! Vinculus, if you could stay in the back to make sure we don't lose any one, we'll be on our way."

_Our whole purpose in carrying out The Plan at Hogwarts was the hope that the Other magic would keep Ali distracted,_ thought Childermass, ten minutes into the tour. _It seems we totally failed to take into account the effect it would have on us! It's like letting cats loose in a garden full of catnip!_ He paused to help Norrell, who had gotten his hand caught in the visor of a suit of armor that had offered up some cheeky remarks. _This place is overwhelming - stupefying! Coming here may not have been the best idea...ah, too late now. If the atmosphere keeps Ali as off-balance as I feel, it may work to our advantage - as long as Strange and Norrell can focus for five minutes._

As for the rest of their group, only Arabella Strange was able to keep her mind on the fact that her daughter would be attending school here in a few weeks. Time and again her practical questions about dormitory arrangements, class schedules, and so on extricated Professor Everard from complicated magical arguments with Norrell and Strange, and even more complicated proposals from Segundus about potential student exchange programs.

Haydée held firmly to Segundus's arm and took in her surroundings with alert, wondering eyes. Dantès walked a little apart, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression inscrutable. Ali stayed at his master's side, silent as always, and Vinculus ambled along in the rear, doing a creditable impression of a wise, elderly wizard. Norrell and Strange had eventually recognized him (although his current persona bore little resemblance to the ragged charlatan of Threadneedle-street, or two the slightly less ragged Second Edition of the King's Book they he had been when they saw him last) but found him one of the less interesting things they had seen at Hogwarts, and did not pursue conversation with him.

Childermass's thoughts were interrupted when the staircase they were ascending detached itself from the wall and swung out over empty space in a broad, slow arc. There were shrieks of alarm from the ladies (and, it must be said, from Norrell as well). Professor Everard, standing on the top step, held up his hands and said: "Be calm, my friends, all is well! This staircase is one of several at the school that has been enchanted to change its position occasionally. It will come to rest shortly and we will carry on to the staff room."

"Why, exactly, is this enchantment in place?" asked Strange, pulling Arabella close against his side while watching the staircase's progress with keen attention.

"No one is entirely sure. Our best guess is that it was meant as a form of defense, should the castle ever be attacked."

"By whom?" said Arabella breathlessly.

"Oh, no one in particular," said Everard. "But there's no harm in being prepared. Hold on, we're almost there!"

The staircase arrived in its new position with barely a bump, connecting them to a landing that led into a long corridor. Everard led them along this corridor until they came to a large tapestry depicting a woodland scene. He touched a patch of blue flowers with one finger and the tapestry rolled itself up with a suddenness that made every one jump, revealing a door behind it.

"This is where the teachers can normally be found between classes," said Everard, opening the door and standing aside to let them go in ahead of him. It was a large, pleasant room filled with mismatched but comfortable armchairs. There was a fireplace at one end, bookcases and a large wardrobe at the other, and a number of reading desks arranged under the high, mullioned windows, through which the afternoon sun came pouring in with blinding brightness.

"The room is not remarkable in itself," continued the headmaster, closing the door behind them, "but there are some fine portraits of the school founders over the fireplace." Walking over to stand closer to the four paintings (whose occupants were hastily trying to look like they had not been napping against their frames a moment ago), he launched into a long explanation of how the school had been created.

Normally this would have interested Childermass very much, but he had happened to notice Everard exchange an extremely meaningful look with Dantès as they entered the room, and his attention was fixed on the Frenchman. Dantès stared up at the portrait of the dark-haired, beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw, his face paler even than usual. Unsure if his preoccupation was part of The Plan, Childermass decided to find out.

"What is it about that painting that interests you so, M'sieur?" he asked Dantès, when Professor Everard paused to take questions from his audience. "You look as if you have seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost, sir - a memory," said Dantès.

"And I know of whom!" exclaimed Haydée in French, causing Everard to break off his discussion about the four school Houses with Norrell. "The same woman to whom your thoughts turn every chance they get - the accursed Mercédès!"

"Guard your tongue, Madame!" said Dantès fiercely.

"Guard my tongue? Why should I, when you do not guard your heart? How could you bring yourself to call me your wife when you are still in that traitorous woman's thrall?"

"Haydée - this is not the place for - "

"It is precisely the place! You refuse to face me when we are alone, so I will make you do it here, before witnesses!" Haydée's hands clutched at her own breast. "Why do you not do to her what you have done to your other enemies? Why do you not destroy her too? I know why - you cannot deny it, Edmond - you still love her!"

Dantès turned abruptly and strode away, coming to a halt in front of the windows. When he faced his wife again it was with the full strength of the westering sun at his back, haloing him in light and obscuring his face in comparative darkness at the same time.

_Ingenious - if it is deliberate,_ thought Childermass. _The sun will make the soul-pearl more difficult to see. I only hope it does not interfere with Madame's aim._ He glanced around the room, taking stock of the position of the players in this drama. Strange, Arabella, Norrell, Segundus, Everard, and himself were grouped together by the fireplace. Vinculus was taking his ease in one of the armchairs. The Dantès stood about twenty feet apart from each other, eyes locked. Ali was at Haydée's side, looking rapidly from her to his master.

"Well, husband?" demanded Haydée. "Will you prove your devotion to me beyond any doubt? Do you agree to rid the world of Mercédès and her son?"

"Never!" spat Dantès. "And if that is the only way you will believe me to be true - then so be it! Think me false!"

"Ah!" cried Haydée. All eyes were on her - except for Childermass's (which were fixed on Ali) and Norrell's (which were narrowed against the light as he kept them resolutely on Dantès, awaiting his cue). "I knew it! I knew you still loved her! I will not have it, do you hear me? If you are not mine and mine alone then you will be nobody's! I will not share you! I would rather die - I would rather _kill_!" At this last word she drew her knife and hurled it across the room.

Dantès threw up his hands in self-defense but is was far too late - the knife buried itself in his chest with a disconcerting lack of sound. Childermass saw Norrell's lips moving has he said the _Animam Evocare_ \- saw, too, because he was looking for it, the little droplet of light shoot into Norrell's waiting hand - saw Dantès fall back against the windowsill and slide to the ground, the pearl-and-silver handle of the knife protuding from the front of his shirt - saw Haydée rush to kneel beside him, Ali at her heels.

"Edmond Dantès is dead!" said Jonathan Strange, holding up the bottle Dantès had given him on the train. "All contracts with him are hereby terminated, by the laws of all worlds known and unknown!" He began to recite the spell of banishing and containment.

This had an extraordinary effect on Ali. He turned from Dantès' body and looked at Strange with eyes full of shock and fury. Strange held the bottle out in front of him and completed the words of the spell. Things like streamers or tentacles of light issued from the bottle and writhed out to twine themselves about Ali, who struggled and snarled, his needle-sharp teeth flashing. The streamers wrapt about his legs, causing them to elongate and merge until his whole lower body had turned into a streak of colored mist, which was being drawn into the blue-and-white phial. The djinni fought against the inexorable pull and they heard his voice for the first time as he cried out: "Not yet! Not now! My master's vengeance is not complete!"

Childermass tore his eyes away from the thrashing, shrieking Ali and saw Norrell, his face white as paper, tottering over to Dantès body, over which Haydée was lamenting in Romaic. He saw Norrell bending over Dantès' face, holding the soul-pearl in trembling fingers, clearly terrified lest he fumble the procedure. But as the old magician reached out to place the pearl between Dantès' lifeless lips, Ali noticed him at last.

" _You!_ " screamed the djinni. "You have tricked me - robbed me! How _dare_ \- " And then - bizarrely existing only as a head, shoulders, and arms protruding from the bottle - he drew one hand back as if about to throw something.

Childermass was moving before he even realized he was doing it.

*

_Norrell pushed the pearl of light into Dantès' mouth -_

_Arabella knelt beside Haydée, comforting her -_

_With a word of power that made the whole room thrum, Strange sealed the bottle -_

_Professor Everard moved swiftly to join those huddled around Dantès, his wand drawn and ready -_

The only thing Segundus could see was Childermass.

Childermass, who had been between Norrell and Ali when the djinni made his last, desperate attempt at retaliation.

Childermass, through whose chest had passed the dart of black fire.

Childermass, who stumbled over to the wall and leaned against it while Strange completed the capture of the djinni and every one else in the room went to the aid of Edmond Dantès.

"John!" cried Segundus, rushing to him and grabbing his forearms to keep him upright. "John, what was that? What happened to you?"

Childermass blinked at him twice, slowly. "Sorry," he said, and slid to the floor. Segundus refused to relinquish his hold and was pulled down with him.

_Dantès coughed and sat up -_

_Haydée's tears were tears of joy -_

_Excitement, relief, congratulations, jokes -_

_Dantès, his iron self-control completely gone, babbling in French: "Haydée, Haydée, you did it, my love, you were wonderful - "_

Childermass was half-sitting, half-lying against the wall. Segundus peered frantically into his slack, unresponsive face, panic rising. He pressed two fingers to the side of Childermass's neck but his hand was shaking so that he could not tell if there was a pulse or not.

"John," he said, but he could not bring himself to say any thing else ( _Are you all right?_ or _Speak to me!_ ) for fear of the answer he would not receive.

Someone touched his shoulder and he started violently. It was Strange. "Mr Segundus," he said, his voice full of concern. "What happened?"

"I am not sure - it was Ali, I think he was trying to get at Mr Norrell, but J - Mr Childermass, he - " Segundus's eyes blurred. Strange crouched beside him and gently moved his hand from where he still held it, placing his own fingers on the artery instead.

"I am sorry, sir," he said presently. "I am very much afraid that he is gone."

"Gone," said Segundus, amazed to hear the word coming from his own mouth. "John is gone." He felt a laugh trying to force its way out and swallowed it down. "That rhymes. He always said I was a better poet than a magician."

The sounds of happiness over by the windows had died down, and the light dimmed. Looking up, Segundus saw that this was because every one - including Vinculus and the revived Dantès - was standing around them in a semi-circle, exclaiming in dismay. Norrell's voice, high and querulous, rose above the rest.

"Mr Strange! Mr Segundus! What is wrong with Childermass?"

"He is dead, sir," said Strange, standing up.

"How? Why? What happened? Mr Segundus, did you see what happened?"

Segundus wished to shout at Norrell - _It was for you! Your fault, your fault! For you, who never saw his true worth!_ \- but he spoke softly, so that they had to lean close to hear his words.

"He was pierced by a spell that the djinni aimed at you, sir. He leapt in front of you to protect you."

Norrell covered his mouth with his hand. Loathe as he was to admit it, Segundus thought he actually saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "To protect me? Oh, Childermass - his loyalty is - was always..."

"But isn't there any thing you can do?" said Arabella. "You have just brought M'sieur Dantès safely back - can you not help Mr Childermass?"

"No, Bell," said Strange. "It is not the same thing - you know it is not."

"What about you, Professor Everard?" said Norrell, rounding on the headmaster. "Is there not any wizard magic than can restore him?"

Everard shook his head slowly. "I deeply regret that there is not."

"Well then perhaps - "

" _Leave!_ "

It took every one a moment to realize that this agonized cry had come from Segundus - quiet, genteel Mr Segundus, hunched protectively over Childermass's body, his kind face changed almost beyond recognition by grief.

"Er - Mr Segundus - " began Strange, but Segundus would not let him finish.

"Leave," he said again. "Please. No more talking - I know he is gone, to argue the point is worse than useless. Leave me with him. Just for a while."

"Mr Segundus," said Norrell, "I understand that you are distraught, but I have to say this behavior - that is to say, you are not the only one here who knew Childermass, I do not see why you should feel you have the right - "

Segundus sprang to his feet. "The right? The right to what? The right to say goodbye in private and in peace? Yes, Mr Norrell, I have that right - more than any one in the world. He was my friend, my companion, my only love - we were _married,_ for G-d's sake! And now he has left me, and I would be most exceedingly obliged if you would all go AWAY."

A resounding silence fell. Segundus, knowing that he had just blurted out the carefully guarded secret of a lifetime but somehow unable to care, got down on his knees once more with his back to the staring, horrified faces and took Childermass's hands in his. _These big-knuckled, clever hands - they feel so cold already! Like those winter nights when he would push them up under my shirt to warm them - how it made me yell!_

He heard Professor Everard cough discreetly and say: "Allow me to escort you to the hospital wing, M'sieur Dantès. Your wound was not deep and I have closed it for you, but it would be best if the matron took a look at you. Madame, Mr and Mrs Strange, Mr Norrell - I would be grateful if you would accompany me as well. I have many questions about what has just transpired, and I would like another look at that phial..."

There was a general scuffing and tapping of shoes on the floor as they left the room. Segundus could do nothing but continue to look at Childermass - that wry mouth, now slack - those black eyes, now dimmed. "You promised to always come back to me," he said, running his fingers through the long grey hair. "So come back. Come back."

Nothing happened, of course. Segundus noticed that he was crying. "Oh, John," he said, gathering Childermass into his arms and resting his cheek against the top of his head. "My dear, my heart - " Then he stopt, his breath catching in his throat as a new thought came to him. "My heart! Heart of my heart - " He searched frantically up and down Childermass's body. "No blood - there needs to be blood - "

"What are you talking about?"

It was Vinculus, still sitting in an armchair and watching him. Apparently he had either come back, or had never left in the first place. Segundus grinned at him manically. "I am going to try something, Vinculus, and I ask you not to interfere."

"Oh, aye - what are you trying, then?"

"My last hope."

Segundus took Childermass's face between his hands, lifted it to meet his own, and kissed him slowly and carefully. He savored the last lingering warmth of life, the roughness of the beard. Sucking Childermass's lower lip into his mouth, he bit down hard, then did the same to his own lip. Tasting iron and salt, he sat back on his heels and said: "There. Brutal, perhaps - but this spell was always rather on the barbaric side."

"What spell?" said Vinculus, for once without a trace of mockery.

" _Cor cordis._ " Segundus closed his eyes. " _Cor cordis._ Heart's core - oh let it work - let me find him - "

It seemed an interminable amount of time, though in reality it was no more than a few seconds, before his chest began to burn. He glanced down at himself and, with a great leap of hope, saw a fist-sized glow shewing through his shirt. Hardly daring to believe it, he unbuttoned Childermass's waistcoat and pulled open his shirt. Pale skin, furred with grey hair - nothing more. Groaning, Segundus collapsed forward with his face on the dead man's chest. _It did not work. I have lost him._

Vinculus said: "Segundus."

Segundus did not answer but stayed as he was, his face pressed into an ever-growing damp patch on the ever-cooling torso of his husband, his hands pressed against the burning in his own heart, waiting for it peter out as the magic found no one to which it could connect.

Vinculus was not to be ignored. "What is that spell meant to do?"

"It creates a connexion between two people," mumbled Segundus. "Leads them to each other when invoked...if possible, that is."

"How?"

"There is a thread of light - oh, what does it matter? It did not work, I was wrong. I cannot find him now."

"But - if you'll pardon my saying so - he isn't there, is he? You said it yourself. John is gone. So your thread wouldn't lead to that thing you're using as a pillow. It would lead - "

Segundus scrambled upright, his eyes shining. "Yes! Yes, that is true! I need a basin and some water, quickly!"

"How about this?" Vinculus pulled a flask from somewhere inside his robes, unscrewed the cap, and poured the contents onto the stone floor.

"Fine!" Segundus bent over the spreading pool of firewhiskey, waiting for it to become still. When it was calm enough to produce a clear reflection he drew perpendicular lines in the air over it while saying the words of the Four-Quarters spell. "Earth, Faerie, Heaven, Hell...oh!"

"What? Is he in the clutches of Old Nick? Surely that's no surprize," said Vinculus, squinting at the lines and dots of light that flickered over the puddle.

"This is no time for such jokes," said Segundus, without any real rancor. "Look - this is his location - or the location of his soul, at any rate. Which, I suppose, is more truly him than his body ever was - "

"You're rambling, man."

"I beg your pardon. He is not in Heaven or Hell at all - he is in Faerie! Why might that be, do you think? Is there some special arrangement for the subjects of the Raven King?"

Vinculus scratched his chin. "No one's ever come back to tell us, but it's a possibility, sure."

"I intend to find out." Segundus took one final look at the body crumpled against the wall and felt a swell of pity and sadness, but not the crushing despair of before. _He is not there. I am going after him._ "Vinculus - whatever I find on the other side - I will not be returning. You know why. Tell the others not to look for me."

"I'll tell them." Vinculus grinned. "I'm pleased to see you're following through on those promises you made each other - how did it go? 'Not even death shall part us...for love is as strong as death.' "

In spite of every thing, Segundus laughed. "I am amazed you remember that!"

"I've got a gift for words." He held out a knobby, blue-tinted hand.

Segundus grasped it firmly in both of his, wishing that he had a similar gift. What could he say to this red-robed scarecrow, this preposterous prophet whose life had influenced his own in so many ways? The best he could manage was to meet Vinculus's eyes and hope that the sincerity of his regard would be seen and understood. From the smirk that appeared on the other man's face, this tactic was successful.

"Goodbye, Vinculus."

"Goodbye - magician."

Segundus breathed deeply, stept into the reflection, and vanished.

*

When Strange and Norrell returned to the staff room, they found Vinculus sprawled in his armchair, having a one-sided conversation with Childermass's corpse. They pressed him regarding the whereabouts of Segundus.

"Gone!" said Vinculus. "Like he said - John is gone. Both of 'em, ha!"

"Gone? Gone where?" demanded Norrell.

Vinculus tapped the side of his nose and addressed the body. "What was it you said back at the Olde Starre Inn? _Wherever magicians used to go. Behind the sky. On the other side of the rain._ "

*  
_Epilogue_

*

As a demonstration of trust and courtesy, none of those who came to Hogwarts to free Edmond Dantès had any of their memories tampered with. After saying a fond farewell at the train station in Glasgow, Madame and M'sieur Dantès were not heard from for many years. Eventually it was discovered that they were living at Beauxbatons, the French institution of magical learning. There they spent the remainder of their days working as liasons between the wizarding community, the magicians of England, and non-magical people, and did much good for the cause.

Norrell initially wanted to have Childermass buried at Hurtfew Abbey, but Strange argued that, in light of Segundus's statement regarding his relationship with the man, Starecross would be more appropriate. "Statement? What statement? I recall no statement," said Norrell, but Strange proved inflexible on this point.

John Childermass was buried at the foot of the garden at Starecross, on the far side the cider-pear trees.

John Segundus was never seen on earth again.

Over time, however, stories began to be told by magicians who had spent time in Other Lands. They claimed that in the court of a certain Fairy King (who was not a Fairy at all, but a human), amid all the fantastically beautiful or wildly grotesque members of his subjects, there could sometimes be glimpsed two ordinary-looking men: one small and dark, with a raven sitting on his shoulder, and the other with a queer, twisted face and long black hair as ragged as rain. No one ever got close enough to speak to these men, but all the reports agreed that they looked - for lack of a better word - _happy_.

So it may be hoped that, in the end, they found their sanctuary.

*  
FIN

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to forgive me for playing a little fast and loose with the timeline of the Bridge Street Terminus in Glasgow - I tried to keep it moderately accurate, but there's only so much research I am willing to do for fanfic. Here's the page where I got most of my information: [Bridge Street Station](http://www.scotcities.com/railways/bridgest.htm)
> 
> Segundus's wilingness to consider time travel as an explanation for the anachronistic technology of the Hogwarts Express is based on his experiences with the Singing King of Desperate-Times, which is recorded in the story titled _Cor Cordis_ , [part 7](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5856202) of this series.
> 
> Information about Granian [winged horses.](http://themonsterblogofmonsters.tumblr.com/post/108026472680/granian-winged-horse-an-exceedingly-fast-breed)
> 
> The last line is a paraphrase of the last line in M. M. Kaye's "The Far Pavilions" ( _And it may even be that they found their Kingdom_ ).
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://nasturtian.tumblr.com), if you care to stop by and say hello (or ask me about any plot holes/loose ends that might be bothering you).


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